


Biting the Dust

by Tenukii



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Childhood Sweethearts, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Hypnotism, M/M, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Sleep Deprivation, stephen king references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13320210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenukii/pseuds/Tenukii
Summary: In 1859, roaming gunslinger Poe Dameron is hired to help protect the town of Ely and the Skywalker Ranch from Kylo Ren, an enigmatic cattle baron.  Ren is using his wealth, influence, and hired guns to take control of Ely, and the plan to stop him goes awry when Poe recognizes his new enemy as someone he once knew long ago.





	1. Chapter 1

How do you think I’m gonna get along without you when you’re gone?  
You took me for everything I had and kicked me out on my own.  
Are you happy?  Are you satisfied?  How long can you stand the heat?  
Out of the doorway, the bullets rip to the sound of the beat.

Hey, I’m gonna get you too,  
Another one bites the dust.

-Queen, “Another One Bites the Dust”

\--

When Poe Dameron rode into the town of Ely late one afternoon, he knew right away that something was strange about it.  Oh, everyone was nice enough to him, but they were a strange kind of nice, the kind that said sure, they’d love it up at the hotel if Poe spent the night, but he really should move on the next morning.  And while the small saloon at one end of the town’s single dusty street was cheerful and noisy and served excellent whiskey, neither of the two girls working there encouraged Poe to come back the next night, and the lady bartender wasn’t very talkative.  In fact, she eyed Poe rather suspiciously.

At first, Poe thought it was how he looked.  Even though he was handsome ( _very_ handsome, many women would point out when asked), Poe’s appearance hinted just enough of the exotic to raise questions.  No one ever came out and _asked_ if he was part Mexican, or part Indian, or part a little of everything, but Poe had been thrown out of a few establishments in the past because his skin was too dark for the owners’ liking.

Yet after he’d been in town for a couple hours, Poe realized that wasn’t the case in Ely.  The man running the small hotel was more than happy to rent him a room for the night, and the bartender didn’t refuse to serve Poe.  The saloon girls were friendly enough; they just didn’t flirt with Poe the way he was used to.

Finally, Poe decided that the townspeople simply didn’t want any newcomers sticking around.  They were happy to have Poe’s business for a day, but not for a month, and certainly not forever.  Poe hadn’t planned on staying more than a week or so anyway, but he _had_ hoped to pick up a job for that week.  His dinner, single drink, and night at the hotel would nearly deplete what little money he had left, and he wasn’t sure how he could afford his—or his beloved horse B.B.’s—next meal.

Poe muttered all this to the bartender, whose name was Maz, without much hope that she would know of any work available.  He doubted she would even care, especially considering how she’d been looking him over all evening.  But then, as Poe was draining the last of the whiskey from his glass, she spoke up.

“You might ask out at the Skywalker Ranch,” Maz told him.  Poe set down his glass and glanced at her in surprise.  Seated on a tall bar stool, he actually had to look down to see her eyes, which regarded him through glasses so thick, they appeared huge and distorted.

“Oh?  Where’s that?” Poe asked, although he tried not to sound too interested.

“West of town, a couple miles.  It’s the only spread out that way.”  Maz still eyed him, yet Poe realized that her gaze wasn’t exactly suspicious after all.  In fact, it was kind of. . . _knowing_.  Poe wasn’t sure he liked that any better.

“All right,” he muttered, “I might head out there in the morning.  Thanks.”  He paid for his drink and slid off his barstool.  The taller of the saloon girls smiled at him on his way out, but usually women tried to give him a lot more than just a smile.  Something was definitely weird about Ely.

Poe found out just what it was the next morning, when he rode B.B. out to the Skywalker Ranch.  It sprawled over what was probably good land—maybe even good _mining_ land.  Poe guessed maybe that was why three men on horseback met him almost as soon as he crossed onto the property.

_Whatever the reason, everyone’s on edge around here,_ Poe thought as they escorted him up to the ranch house with their guns visible on their belts.

An hour later, Poe knew what he thought was the whole story.  He learned it from one of the ranch’s two owners: a petite, middle-aged woman named Leia Solo.  Poe assumed she was a widow who needed help with the property she’d inherited from her husband—until he realized she knew exactly what she was doing.

She gave Poe a cup of coffee far stronger than what he’d gotten from the hotel’s kitchen that morning, looked him up and down, and said she’d hire him if he was game.  When Poe said he was game for just about anything, Leia gave him a disconcerting smirk.  She explained that she co-owned the ranch with a man named Luke Skywalker—her brother, not her husband.  (Leia’s husband was still alive but absent and, Poe quickly understood, not to be discussed.)

Leia revealed that her brother had disappeared from the ranch some time ago, and that while Luke had left of his own free will, it was now imperative that he return and help her defend their home and livelihood.  Nevertheless, Leia did not want Poe to find Luke.  Leia wanted Poe to find the map Luke had left behind before he absconded, so that _she_ could find Luke.  Poe couldn’t fathom why a middle-aged man would run away from home, or make a map showing where he was running to, _or_ leave that map with someone other than his family.  But the reason _why_ was none of Poe’s business, so he didn’t ask.

Instead, he just told Leia he’d find the map.  Leia suspected the map might be with an old family friend in Ruth, another town about eight miles from Ely.

Poe also didn’t ask Leia why she didn’t just send one of her own hands after the map—he wasn’t about to suggest that someone else get paid for what seemed like an easy task.  Yet Leia explained it anyway: a local cattle baron who called himself Kylo Ren wanted that map too.

Over the past few months, Ren had bought up almost all of the land, ranches, and homesteads surrounding Ely—except for the Skywalker Ranch, because Leia refused to sell.  In fact, without her brother to co-sign the deed over to Ren, she couldn’t sell even if she did want to.  Ren had ways of getting what he wanted, though; those ways included a lot of money, a gang of well-trained gunslingers and cowboys, and control over the bank, the stagecoach line, and the sheriff of Ely.  Maz’s saloon was the only establishment in town which Ren hadn’t bought out.  When he heard that, Poe understood why the bartender had acted so suspicious of him.

“Kylo Ren is determined to get this ranch, so I’m afraid he’ll go to extremes to find Luke and force the two of us to sell,” Leia told Poe.  “Besides Maz, we’re the only holdouts keeping him from controlling the entire town.  It’s become an offense to his pride that we won’t give in to him.”  She sighed and shook her head slightly, in what Poe thought was a sad way.  He didn’t know why she’d be sad about the situation instead of angry, but again, it wasn’t his place to ask questions.

Leia went on, “Kylo Ren has a nightmarish temper, so anyone who goes after that map could be riding into serious danger.  For the last time, are you certain you want to get involved?”

“I’m certain,” Poe assured her.  Not only did he need the money, but he was also outraged on Ely’s behalf.  He felt determined to help the Skywalker family put a stop to Kylo Ren’s tyranny.

\--

When Poe reached Ruth late that afternoon, he found that Leia had been right: the map was there, in the possession of an old man called San Tekka.  Although he behaved cautiously at first, San Tekka eventually turned the map over to Poe after he read a letter Poe had brought from Leia.  In it, she described Poe to prove he was whom he claimed to be, and she asked San Tekka to entrust Poe with her brother’s map.

Poe secured the map and was riding B.B. out of town, back east towards Ely, when he heard the thunder of hooves coming in from the west.  By then, evening was falling, and Poe was fairly sure he hadn’t been seen in the dim light.  He urged B.B. off Ruth’s single street to take cover behind the last building on the eastern edge of town: an old, crumbling stable.  Poe dismounted and peered around the corner of the building to watch Kylo Ren’s posse barreling into the other end of town.

“Shit,” Poe whispered.  The posse was every bit as violent as Leia had warned, kicking down doors and hauling men, women, and even children out into the darkening street.  Poe couldn’t hear everything the invaders said, but they seemed to be questioning the townspeople about something.  Poe thought he probably knew what.

_I’ve gotta get this map out of here,_ Poe thought, but then he spotted two members of Ren’s posse dragging San Tekka out in front of the rest of them.

Poe muttered aloud, “No, I can’t just _leave._ I have to help them!”  B.B. snorted and turned his head at the sound of Poe’s voice.  Poe looked at the buckskin pinto, and the horse seemed to look back with concern.

“I know, buddy, it’s not my business,” Poe said to B.B., “and I’m getting paid to take this map back to Leia, not to be a hero.  But she hired me because I’m good with a gun, right?  So it wouldn’t be right for me not to use it to protect people who need my help.”

B.B. blinked his large, brown eyes.  Poe pulled the map out of an inner pocket of his worn leather jacket and tucked it into one of B.B.’s saddle bags instead.

Poe went on, “You’ve gotta get this back to the ranch—that way it’ll be safe, no matter what happens to me.  I’ll be back soon as I take care of this Ren guy, okay?”  Even the horse didn’t look completely convinced by the crazy plan, and Poe sighed.

“I’ll be fine, I swear,” he said, as much to himself as to B.B.  Then he grabbed the reins and turned his horse back onto the dusty street before tying the reins around the saddle horn and giving B.B. a hard swat to his rear end.  _Sorry, buddy,_ Poe thought as the horse bolted away from Ruth, _but you’ll be safer this way.  And I’ll see you again soon—I promise._

Poe ducked back into his hiding place and looked up the street again.  The good news was that no one appeared to have noticed Poe’s escaping horse.  The bad news was that one of the posse now had old San Tekka down on his knees.  Poe couldn’t tell much about the outlaw from that distance except that he was tall, wearing a hat, and dressed all in black—and he had a gun, which he pointed at his prisoner’s head.

_He must be asking about the map,_ Poe thought.  _I’ve got to sneak up there and get weapons to some of the townsmen before—_   There was a loud crack and a flash of gunpowder from up the street, and San Tekka fell over dead.

“ _Shit!_ ” Poe hissed again.  Automatically, his hand dropped to his hip for his own gun, and he brought it up, aiming at the tall man in black.  Poe fired, but a second later, a sharp pain in his hand made him yelp and drop his gun.  For an instant, he thought _he’d_ been shot, in the hand no less, but then he realized the truth: the other man had shot Poe’s gun out of his hand, without hitting Poe himself at all.

“What the hell,” Poe breathed.  Before he could even think about retrieving his gun, several of the posse started toward him, their own guns drawn.  Poe groaned and held his hands up in surrender.

\--

And that was how Poe Dameron ended up being dragged before Kylo Ren, who of course was the tall man in black who could shoot a gun out of another man’s hand from nearly all the way across town.  Besides the three men who were herding Poe—one on each side of him, and one with a gun to his back—Poe saw at least ten other people making up Ren’s posse.  Most of them were unremarkable, scarred and hardened cowboys.  Two, however, caught Poe’s attention.

One was a young black man, which made him stand out: all the others appeared to be white, or like Poe, light-skinned enough to pass in the fading light of sunset.  What caught Poe’s attention, however, was the way the man kept glancing at Poe with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy.

The other posse member intrigued Poe because she was a woman.  She was a beautiful woman at that, tall and slender with short blond hair visible in a fringe sticking out from under her hat.  Her eyes, though, were as hard as any of the men’s in the posse, if not harder.  She never even looked at Poe.  Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the townspeople of Ruth who huddled together, some of the children weeping in fear.

The two men holding Poe threw him down to his knees before Kylo Ren.  Poe cast a resentful glare up at the tall man, but then Ren surprised Poe by kneeling as well so that they were eye to eye.  In fact, Ren’s eyes were just about the only part of him not covered up.  He wore a black bandana over his nose and the lower half of his face, a black hat atop his head, and, of course, a long black duster over his shirt and jeans.  Even Ren’s shaggy hair was black, as far as Poe could tell in the deepening twilight.  Poe caught himself wondering what Ren’s face looked like beneath the bandana, what sort of body the duster concealed, how long his hair was under the hat.

Ren looked at Poe, and Poe looked at Ren.

Finally, Poe muttered, “So who talks first?  You talk first?  I talk first?”  He was hoping to goad Ren into a reaction, but not so much as a flicker passed through the dark eyes fixed on Poe’s face.

“The old man gave it to you,” Ren finally said.  His voice was deep and slightly muffled by the bandana.

Poe tried again.  “It’s just very hard to understand you with the—”

“Search him,” Ren told the two men flanking Poe, rising to his feet again as he spoke.

“. . . Bandana,” Poe finished.  He followed Ren up with his eyes, irritated at the interruption but mostly at his inability to draw any emotion from his captor.  The other two men hauled Poe up and searched him roughly, hands slapping and groping at his sides.  It wasn’t a very thorough search, but Ren didn’t demand more—almost as if he already knew that Poe no longer had the map on him.

“Take him back to the ranch,” Ren ordered.  Poe considered putting up a fight as the others started dragging him toward where another of their number was waiting with their horses; however, Poe knew that resistance would be useless.

_They have my gun, and plenty of their own,_ Poe thought.  He didn’t have any choice but to submit when his captors stopped him beside one of their horses and forced him to mount it by jabbing the muzzle of a gun into his spine.  Once Poe was astride the horse, one of the men began to tie his hands behind his back, but Poe was distracted by a commotion back where Ren still stood, now speaking with the blonde.

“The map’s not here,” she reported.  “We’ve searched the whole town.  What should we do?”

“Burn it,” said Ren.  “Burn it to the ground—and shoot anyone who tries to get away.”

“No!” Poe shouted.  It was an automatic reaction, even though Poe knew that his protests wouldn’t change anything.  Ren, of course, ignored Poe’s cry, if he even heard it above the din that broke out at his order.  Several of the gathered townspeople did try to pull away from Ren’s gang, although Poe couldn’t tell if they were trying to run away or to fight back.  Some of Ren’s posse leveled their guns and fired on the resisters, while others began moving toward Ruth’s few buildings to set them ablaze.  The woman left Ren’s side and ran into the fracas herself.

Besides Ren himself, only one of the posse did nothing: the young black man stood still in the middle of the chaos.  At first he began to raise his gun toward the townspeople, but then he just lowered it again and held it by his side as he stared with widened eyes.

When the first trails of smoke began to rise from Ruth’s wooden sidewalks and buildings, Ren turned away and approached the cluster of horses.  They weren’t happy about the growing fire and had begun to whinny and shy toward the open land away from the town.  Poe’s horse was particularly skittish, and he gripped the saddle tightly with his thighs, finding it hard to keep his balance with his arms bound behind him.

To his dismay, Ren came right up to the horse Poe straddled.  He ignored Poe entirely to reach up a gloved hand to the horse’s head.  Poe expected Ren to strike the animal, but instead, he trailed his fingers down its long nose, then cupped his hand over its nostrils.  Poe was amazed when the horse calmed and stood still.  It lowered its head slightly, clearly enjoying Ren’s touch as his other hand moved to stroke its forehead.  Ren murmured something to the horse, but his deep voice was too low for Poe to understand what he said.

Heat on the side of Poe’s face drew his attention away from Ren and back to the town.  Weeks of dry weather had left the worn wooden structures particularly susceptible to fire, and flames had already started licking up the sides of the buildings.

“No,” Poe whispered, even though no one could stop the fire now even if they tried; there couldn’t be enough water in the whole town to put out the spreading blaze.  Poe looked down at Ren in hatred and saw dark, emotionless eyes gazing back up at him.  Even when Poe growled, “You bastard!” he still got no reaction.

_Back at Skywalker Ranch, they said he had such a temper, but I can’t even get a rise out of him!_ Poe marveled.  Trying to antagonize Ren only resulted in Poe frustrating himself instead.

“Let’s go,” Ren said over his shoulder to his posse.  When he moved to the flank of the horse Poe rode, then put the toe of one black boot in the stirrup, Poe gave an indignant protest.

“What are you doing?  You’re _not_ riding with—”

“This is _my_ horse,” Ren informed Poe.  He put one hand on the saddle’s pommel—uncomfortably close to Poe’s groin, in fact—and the other on the cantle.  _Uncomfortably close to my ass,_ Poe thought, feeling his face flush in spite of himself.  The saddle shifted as Ren put his weight in the stirrup; then he swung his other long leg up over the horse’s rear to seat himself just behind the saddle. . . and just behind Poe.  Ren reached around Poe to grasp the reins in one hand and with barely a flick, turned his horse away from the burning town.

A touch from Ren’s heels coaxed the horse into a smooth gallop.  Poe turned his head for a final look at Ruth blazing behind them.  He was barely tall enough to peer over Ren’s broad shoulder, but he could see the surviving townspeople huddled in a mass before their burning homes.  Two of Ren’s gang were still standing there with their guns, but the rest had mounted their horses to follow Ren and Poe.

Poe faced forward again and shuddered with a mixture of revulsion, anger. . . and guilt.  He couldn’t help feeling that somehow _he_ had brought Ruth’s doom down upon it.

_If I hadn’t gotten here first, Ren might not have shot that man and burned the town,_ Poe thought miserably.  _Yeah, he would have gotten the map, but. . . was keeping it from him worth all this?  Is Skywalker Ranch more valuable than the lives of all these people?_

Still, Poe knew that he really wasn’t the one to blame for the fate of the town or anyone in it.  The man at fault was the one seated behind him, so close to him that Poe could feel the heat of Ren’s body against his back.  The awkward positioning of Poe’s pinioned hands meant that his fingers were pressed to the other man’s waist, where they touched Ren’s belt buckle, his shirt, and a little of his jeans.  Ren’s left arm brushed Poe’s side as he held the reins in that hand, but he kept his right arm back.  Although Ren seemed to be touching as little of Poe as possible, Poe still felt flustered by their contact.

_Why?_   Poe answered his own question immediately: _Because he disgusts me, that’s why.  I don’t want him anywhere near me, yet he’s so, so close. . . ._   Again Poe wondered what the man really looked like, underneath all the black garments he wore to conceal himself.  Poe didn’t even know if Ren was old or young, for Leia hadn’t told him much.

_All she said was that he wanted her ranch, and that he would do anything to get what he wants,_ Poe remembered.   _And that he gets angry.  When Ren doesn’t get what he wants, he gets angry. . . ._   Poe thought of San Tekka, and what had happened to him when he didn’t give Ren what he wanted.

_But he hasn’t gotten angry at me.  Not yet._ Poe shivered against the larger man behind him.  _God help me when he does._

\--

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

Poe wasn’t sure how much time passed before Kylo Ren came to question him.  Ren wasn’t the only one to do so; he let his posse take a shot at Poe first—not the black man, or the woman, but a couple of the others who took turns first asking, then demanding to know what Poe had done with the map.  Poe refused to answer them, even when they started hitting and kicking him.

Still, Poe wasn’t in any position to fight back.  When they’d reached the ranch, Ren had dismounted and left Poe for the others to deal with.  They’d pulled him off the horse and dragged him into an abandoned stable, where they bound Poe’s ankles and forced him to kneel in the dusty old straw while they asked their questions.  After an hour or so, the men seemed finally to understand that Poe wouldn’t talk, and they left him there, lying on his side with blood running into his left eye and more leaking from his mouth.  Poe ached all over, but he took some comfort in the knowledge that the map would soon be safely in Leia Solo’s hands.

_I did my job,_ Poe told himself, _and even if I never make it back to get paid for it, I did the right thing.  Ren may have bullied everyone else in Ely to give in to him, but he won’t get that last ranch. . . ._

Poe was close to sinking into the blissful oblivion of sleep when two different men came in.  They didn’t ask him any questions.  They didn’t even hit him, although they did make sure to jostle his aching head and midsection as they yanked Poe back up onto his knees.  The two sat there, one on each side of Poe, and talked over his slumped head, loud enough to grate in his ears.  Every time Poe was close to passing out, one or both of the men would elbow or pinch him until he jolted awake again.  Poe had lost track of time by then, but it was still dark beyond the candle-lit confines of the stable when he choked out a request for some water.  One of the men growled and socked him in the jaw.  Poe groaned in spite of himself as he landed on the ground, hard on his side.

“Stop it, you idiot!  Ren said not to hit him anymore—it ain’t doin’ no good,” the other man muttered.  He hauled Poe back up on his knees then snarled, “Much as I’d like to mess that pretty face up some more.  Sit up, you little shit.”

They kept Poe awake and thirsty all night, while the aching in his head faded to a dull throb, and the blood dried and crusted on his face.  He knew dawn had come when blue-white light began to seep in through the wide cracks between the boards of the stable walls.  Soon after that, Kylo Ren appeared in the open doorway, still dressed in black with his face covered by the bandana.

Poe’s eyes had almost drooped closed again, but he opened them and drew in a breath when he saw the tall man outlined by the rising sun’s light.  Now Poe understood why he’d been kept awake all night: _They were making it easier for Ren to break me._   The thought frightened Poe a little, but he narrowed his tired eyes into a glare anyway, and when Ren glanced down at him, Poe didn’t avert his gaze.  Ren’s own eyes narrowed as well before they flicked to the man on Poe’s right.

“Out,” Ren muttered with a jerk of his head toward the door behind him.  Both men scrambled to their feet and hurried out, one casting a glance back over his shoulder as if he wished he could stay to see what Ren planned to do to his hostage.  Poe swallowed—an action made difficult by his parched throat—and watched as Kylo Ren approached him.

Ren stopped several yards away and asked, “Comfortable?”  The deepness of his voice made Poe want to shiver despite the warmth of the summer morning.

Poe lifted his chin at what he hoped was a defiant angle and retorted, “Not really.”

Ignoring both Poe’s attitude and his response, Ren came closer in a slow amble.  He stood before the pinioned man and looked down at him with dark eyes which had become emotionless once more.

“I’m impressed,” Ren told Poe.  “No one has been able to get out of you what you did with the map.”

Although Poe was seething with both fury and fear, he managed to keep his own voice as calm as Ren’s when he replied, “You might want to rethink your technique.”  He was rewarded with a flicker of anger that crossed what he could see of Ren’s face.  The tall man bent down and grasped a handful of Poe’s rumpled hair, using it to jerk Poe’s head back and causing the ache in his skull to begin afresh.  Poe moaned in pain despite his best efforts to stifle the cry.

Ren leaned his shrouded face in closer and growled, “Where is it?”

“I will not be intimidated by you,” Poe hissed up at him.  Even with most of Ren’s face hidden by the bandana, Poe could see the fury on it, just by the flashing in his eyes, the furrows on his pale forehead, and the lowering of his black brows.  Ren yanked harder on Poe’s hair and clamped his free hand over the smaller man’s throat.  Poe winced as Ren shoved him up against the wall at his back.

“Where _is_ it?” Ren demanded.  Poe only continued to glare at him, although when he remembered what he’d heard about Ren’s temper, he wondered if he would ever make it out of that stable alive.

_I don’t care,_ Poe told himself.  _I won’t give in to him._   Beneath the conscious thought, another, less welcome one ran: _I impressed him, and I won’t disappoint him by letting him break me now._   Poe didn’t want to consider the tiny twinge of satisfaction he felt from knowing that he had made an impression upon Kylo Ren.

But then Ren surprised him.  The large, gloved hands dropped from Poe’s throat and hair, and Ren took a step back.  Poe drew several deep, painful breaths as Ren fell to one knee in front of him and slipped a hand into one of his own pockets.  When Ren withdrew his hand, he was holding a single shotgun shell between his thumb and forefinger.  Poe focused his tired eyes on the polished metal and wondered if Ren was implying that he meant to shoot him.

_At least it will be over quickly, and I can **rest** ,_ Poe thought as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

Yet Ren said nothing more, and he made no move to draw his gun.  Instead, he began to twirl the shell through his fingers, using his thumb to start it traveling lightly over and between them.  Poe stared at Ren’s hand and tried to figure out what the strange man was doing.  His long fingers were certainly lithe and skillful, but Poe didn’t know how showing them off was meant to intimidate him.  Still, the motion of the shell passing between them mesmerized Poe, and he couldn’t take his eyes away.

_It’s relaxing,_ he thought drowsily, _even soothing.  His fingers are. . . lovely.  I wonder if they’re as pale as his face, under the gloves?_   Poe didn’t even realize Ren was hypnotizing him; he was only aware of the movement of the other man’s slender fingers and, after a moment, the sound of Kylo Ren’s deep voice.

\--

Kylo Ren was surprised by how responsive his captive was to hypnosis.  When the stranger refused to confess what he’d done with the map, despite being wounded by Ren’s posse and threatened by Ren himself, Kylo had been certain he’d resist hypnosis as well, even beaten and sleep-deprived as he was.  But after only a couple moments, the man’s beautiful brown eyes softened and the tension in his angry face relaxed.  Once Kylo was sure his prisoner would no longer refuse to answer his questions, he let the shotgun shell fall from his fingers into the straw between him and the smaller man.

“What is your name?” Kylo asked, modulating his voice to avoid sounding angry or threatening. 

“Poe Dameron,” the small man murmured.  Kylo drew in his breath when he heard the name, but then he forced it out again with no other reaction.

_There must be many men in the world named Poe,_ he told himself.  _As for the one I knew—that was a long time ago, and a long way away._   He looked at the other man’s face carefully, taking in the tan skin (now bruised and bloodied), the tousled hair, the largish nose, and the full, slightly-parted lips.  Dameron blinked his eyes, fluttering their long black lashes.

_He’s as pretty as some women,_ Kylo thought, shifting his weight uncomfortably from the leg folded under him to his other foot.  _Prettier than others._   The boy he had once known had been pretty too.

“Where is the map?” Kylo asked Dameron, determined to ignore the way looking at his prisoner’s face made him feel.  For an instant, a distressed furrow passed over Dameron’s brow, but then he relaxed again.

“In B.B.’s saddlebag,” he said.

“Who is B.B.?” Kylo prodded.

“My horse.”  Dameron smiled, and the somewhat dull look in his eyes brightened.  “He’s a wonderful horse.  The best horse in the whole world.”

“I’m sure,” Kylo muttered, not caring in the least.  “And where is B.B. now?”

Dameron sighed and said, “I sent him back to the ranch.  I had to whack him pretty hard to make him run.  Poor B.B., I hope I didn’t hurt him.”  He paused and lifted his eyes back to Kylo’s.  Now those lovely eyes looked misty and distant again.  “Something. . . something hurts.  My head.  Why does my head hurt?”

Kylo’s gaze flicked to the wound on Dameron’s temple, and he felt a startling twinge of guilt even as he wondered why hypnosis had turned the man into a blithering idiot.  Most victims of Kylo’s peculiar skill only answered the questions he put to them.  They didn’t just start. . . _rambling_.

“Never mind that,” hissed Kylo.  “ _What_ ranch?  Who has the map now?”

“Leia,” Dameron told him.  “Her ranch.”

“ _Leia_ ,” whispered Kylo.

“Unh hunh.  Do you know her?  She’s very nice.  Very strict but very nice.”  Dameron nodded, then winced at the pain the movement must have caused in his head before he mumbled, “I’m so tired.  They wouldn’t let me rest, and all I want is to go to sleep. . . .”

Kylo snapped, “In a minute!  You can sleep in a minute.”  He leaned forward until his eyes were only a few inches from Dameron’s bloody, handsome face.  “Did Leia Solo hire you?  Did she hire you to find the map?”

“Yes.”  Dameron blinked again and tried to focus his vision on Kylo at that close range; then he blurted out, “You have the most beautiful eyes.”

Kylo stared at him.

Dameron stared back for a second before he added in a slurred mumble, “Why the bandana though?  What’re you hiding?  D’you have a scar, or. . . or are you just real ugly?”

“Quiet!” Kylo growled.  He looked away as he pondered over what else Dameron might be able to tell him.  Nothing, probably—at least nothing Kylo hadn’t already realized, as soon as Dameron said the name “Leia.”

_It’s too late,_ Kylo thought.  _If that horse of his really did head back to the Skywalker Ranch, Leia probably has the map by now.  I’ve failed—because **he** got to the map first._   He looked back at Dameron with a furious glare, and the smaller man flinched at the sight of Kylo’s anger.

“I’m—I’m sure you’re not _that_ ugly,” Dameron offered.  “Can I see?  Under your bandana?”

“No!” Kylo snarled at him.  He snatched up the shotgun shell he had dropped and held it up before the deep brown eyes that stared up at him with such open, innocent curiosity.  “You wanted to sleep—so sleep, Poe Dameron.”

Kylo spun the shell over his fingertips, and Dameron’s gaze followed it.  Kylo tamped down his anger and made himself keep his voice to a murmur as he deepened the other man’s hypnosis: “Go to sleep.  Close your eyes and rest.”

Dameron’s eyelids fell farther downward, then closed altogether.  He wobbled on his knees, and Kylo barely dropped the shell in time to put out an arm and catch the smaller man as Dameron lost his balance and slumped to one side.

_I should have let him fall,_ Kylo swore silently as he laid Dameron down in the straw and drew back.  _Little bastard, throwing himself into other people’s business, just for a few dollars.  You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Poe Dameron._

Kylo scowled down at the prone man and dropped a hand to the holster on his hip.  With a flick of his wrist, Kylo drew his gun and lowered the muzzle to touch Dameron’s sweaty, dusty forehead.  Kylo’s long forefinger rested lightly on the trigger, ready to pull it with a single twitch.

And yet, he couldn’t do it.  As long as there was the slightest chance Poe Dameron could be the same Poe that Kylo had once known, Kylo couldn’t kill him.

Kylo lifted his finger from the trigger and holstered his gun, but he remained there for some minutes more.  He watched Dameron sleep and remembered how the smaller man had felt against his chest as Kylo galloped away from Ruth.  Kylo hadn’t been able to see his prisoner’s eyes when Dameron turned to look back at the burning town, but he could imagine how they looked: full of pain, sorrow, and sympathy.  He imagined those eyes looking at Leia Solo that way too.

_How much did she tell you?_ Kylo wondered.  _I should have asked you **that**.  Is that why you did took this job, because you felt sorry for her?  Is that why you looked at me with so much hatred?_   Maybe.  Maybe not.  From what Dameron had witnessed in Ruth, he had plenty of reasons to hate Kylo even without knowing who he really was.

Kylo hauled himself to his feet and stalked out of the stable.  The two men he’d left to guard Dameron overnight were waiting outside, standing on either side of the door.  When he passed between them, Kylo ordered, “Stay here and watch him.”

Both men nodded, but Kylo hardly noticed.  By the time he reached the ranch house, he had already banished both Poe Dameron and the other pretty, brown-eyed Poe from his thoughts.  Instead, Kylo’s mind was consumed with how to proceed now that he’d lost his chance to find Luke Skywalker.

\--

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

When Poe woke up, someone was shaking him.  Being jostled deepened the ache in his head, and he groaned and tried to swat the person away.  Only when he couldn’t move his arms, did Poe remember where he was.

“Hey, wake up!” a male voice urged.  Poe hauled his eyes open and looked up into the face peering down at his.  It belonged to the black man he’d noticed in Ruth, the one who had balked at following Kylo Ren’s orders to burn the town. . . and it wasn’t the face Poe had expected to see.

“Where’s Ren?” he mumbled.  He tried to draw back from the other man but only succeeded in squirming a bit on the pile of straw where he lay.

“Oh, thank God,” the other man breathed.  “Thought you were—were dead or something.”

“No—urrgh!”  Poe raised his head, winced, and dropped it back onto the straw.

“Ren wants to see you,” the man told him.  He was crouching on the dusty, splintery stable floor in front of Poe, and he rocked back on his heels to look Poe over with a sort of bewildered expression.  He muttered, “I’ve gotta get you up.”

“Nnugh,” said Poe.  He sighed and managed to lift part of his weight up on one elbow; then the other man slid an arm under Poe’s side and righted him to his knees.  Everything hurt, and Poe was grateful when the other man paused to let him get his bearings.

“You’re a mess,” the man said.  Poe summoned the strength to glare at him, but then changed his mind when he saw the sympathetic expression in the warm brown eyes looking back.  “What did he do to you?”

“He—”  Poe broke off and frowned.  “I. . . don’t know.  What time is it?  Is it morning yet?”

The other man frowned too when he answered, “It’s past noon.”

“Shit,” muttered Poe.  “I remember them keeping me up all night.  They were questioning me, beating me when I wouldn’t answer.  Then they just stopped, but they still wouldn’t let me sleep.”  He didn’t know why exactly he was telling one of Ren’s own posse all that, but it wasn’t like what had happened to Poe was any big secret.  Besides, this guy didn’t seem to pose much of a threat, and talking through it was helping Poe regain his wits.

He continued, “Then Ren came in and sent the others away.  He—he was. . . .”  Poe fell silent.  Ren was _what_?  He couldn’t remember.  He had looked into Ren’s eyes, eyes even darker than those of the man watching him now, and he had thought how beautiful they were.  Poe remembered something about Ren’s fingers being beautiful too.  But that was all: Poe had no recollection of what Ren had said to him, no memory of going to sleep or of Ren leaving him.

“That’s all I remember,” Poe finally admitted.  The other man sighed and reached out to grasp each of Poe’s arms.

“C’mon, you gotta stand up,” he said.  “I’ll help you.”

Poe’s cramped legs tingled when blood flowed freely in them as he stood.  _No,_ he thought, _that’s not a tingle, that’s like riding a cactus_.  He winced and would have tipped over if his new acquaintance hadn’t steadied him.  The other man dropped back to his knees to cut the ropes tying Poe’s ankles, so he could walk.

“I’ve gotta leave your hands tied, sorry,” the man apologized as he stood back up.  He looked Poe over again and sort of dusted some of the straw off him.  For some reason, that combined with his earlier “you’re a mess” comment struck Poe as funny, and he chuckled.  The other man froze and gave Poe a sideways glance.

“Uh, you okay?” he asked.

That made Poe want to laugh harder, but he restrained himself and shrugged as he answered, “I’ve been better.  But I didn’t expect to be alive at this point, so I can’t complain.”

The other man took Poe’s arm and led him through the stables out into a painfully bright, sunny afternoon.

“I’m kinda surprised myself,” he commented, which didn’t strike Poe as especially cheerful news.

They passed a couple other men on the way into the ranch house where Poe supposed Kylo Ren was waiting for him.  Poe didn’t recognize these others, but they gave him long, hateful looks all the same.  Poe’s acquaintance, or caretaker, or whatever he was, took Poe into the kitchen of all places, through a door in the back of the house.

The kitchen was large and well-stocked—and something that smelled a lot like stew was simmering in a pot on a wood stove, which reminded Poe that he hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.  His mouth watered, but that only made his parched throat feel even drier.  He didn’t have much hope of getting fed, but maybe his new friend, so to speak, would at least let him drink something.

“Could I have some water?  Please” Poe asked, trying to look as meek and appealing as possible.  The other man actually cringed.

He said, “I’m sorry, really, but I can’t give you any.  Ren’d kill me, if Miss Phasma didn’t kill me first.”

_Miss Phasma?_ Poe wondered, although really there was only one person _that_ could be, unless the posse included a second woman Poe hadn’t seen.

“It’s okay,” Poe sighed aloud.

“Uh, you—you can sit down if you want, though,” the other man offered.  He gestured at a ladder-backed chair, but Poe shook his head.

“I still don’t have all the feeling back in my legs, so I’d rather stand while I can,” he explained.  There was more to it than that, though: standing up rather than sitting gave Poe the barest chance of defending himself should he be attacked again.  Poe shifted his weight from foot to foot and rotated each ankle to increase the blood flow to his feet as much as he could.

“Is Ren gonna question me again?” Poe asked as he stretched his legs.

“I dunno,” the other man shrugged.  “He didn’t tell me why he wanted to see you, but I don’t think there’s much more for him to question you about.  He already got what he wanted.”

Poe froze, one foot extended a few inches above the ground, and stammered, “He. . . did?”  As he carefully put his foot back down, he looked at his companion.  The other man’s eyes widened, as if he realized he’d said something he shouldn’t, but then he shrugged again.

“Yeah.  He already sent most of the men out again.  ‘S why he put _me_ in charge of you, I guess.”

“Shit,” Poe breathed a second time.  He stared at the flagstones beneath his dusty boots and tried to think through the throb of his headache.  _Ren got what he wanted, and he sent men out—like he knows where the map is.  But I didn’t tell anyone!  They asked me, and I wouldn’t tell them. **He** asked me.  He said, “Where is it?” and I told him he didn’t scare me, and then he asked me again, and he—he pulled my hair and grabbed my throat, and then. . . ._

“What happened to me?” Poe asked in a low voice.  “What did he do to me, during that time I can’t remember?  And what did I tell him?”

“I don’t know!” his companion protested.  “Ren didn’t tell _me_ anything—I’m a nobody around here, _no one_ tells me anything.”  Poe flicked his eyes up to the other man’s face, and it looked sincere enough.  Poe nodded tensely and closed his eyes.

_Ren pulled my hair and grabbed my throat.  But he didn’t choke me.  He let me go again. . . and I was looking at his hands, his long fingers. . . and then—_

Poe gave a groan of frustration that seemed to move the other man, for he abruptly muttered, “Look, I’m—I’m gonna get you some water, just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

“Of course not,” Poe mumbled, opening his eyes again.  “Thank you.”

The other man looked positively frightened—he was apparently well-trained not to disobey orders—but he turned toward the pump along the back wall of the kitchen.  Poe’s heart actually fluttered with excitement, and he marveled at how quickly something so simple as a drink of water became a thing to be delighted over.

And then they both heard the sharp clack of boots approaching the open inside door of the kitchen from deeper inside the house.  Poe’s fluttery heart fell like a bird shot out of the sky.  A string of Spanish swear words he hadn’t heard since he was a boy in Guatemala raced through his mind, and he wished a thousand horrible deaths on Kylo Ren as the tall, pale man stalked into the room.  Poe’s companion jumped and spun around so quickly he nearly lost his balance, and he hurried a few steps away from the pump as if that might hide what he’d been about to do.

Ren was still wearing the black bandana, and the eyes peering over it cut from his underling to Poe, then back again.

“Out,” Ren muttered with the barest jerk of his head back toward the door he’d come in through.

“Yessir,” the other man stammered.  Poe looked at him with a pang of what was nearly longing.  Maybe the guy was still Poe’s enemy, but he was the only person who’d treated him with respect ever since Poe had been captured, and Poe was sorry to see him go.  The other man met Poe’s eyes with an apologetic look; then he slunk out of the room.

Poe swallowed, his parched throat protesting, and looked back up at Kylo Ren.  The outlaw turned to close the door then faced Poe.

“Do you want some water?” Ren asked.  Poe’s mouth actually fell open for a second before he realized he was gawking.  He shut his mouth with a clack of his teeth and wondered if Ren was trying to be extra cruel by asking if Poe wanted water just so he could refuse it.  Then, deciding he had nothing to lose either way, Poe nodded.

“Yes,” he breathed in little more than a whisper.  “Please.”

As Ren walked past him, back toward the pump, Poe turned his head to watch the outlaw move.  With his lean figure and long limbs, Poe might have called Ren graceful if he didn’t stalk so stiffly.  Poe still wasn’t sure Ren really intended to give him any water, even when Ren primed the pump with the contents of a dented enamelware pitcher, then pumped fresh water into the vessel.  Poe looked away after Ren poured some of the water into a tin cup and started back over to him.

Ren stopped about a yard away and ordered Poe, “Sit down.”

Poe almost refused out of his habit of resistance, but then he sat in the ladder-backed chair without making any complaint that could incite Ren and make him change his mind about the water.  Poe did look at the other man after that.  Ren was holding the cup cradled in his hands—hands that were now gloveless.  His fingers were as lovely as Poe might have guessed, long and white, even though they bore a few little scars.  There wasn’t even any dirt under Ren’s fingernails, and Poe suddenly became aware of how filthy he himself must be, smeared with dust and sweat and blood.  Ridiculously, he felt ashamed until he told himself that if he was dirty, it was because of Ren, and Poe had no reason to be embarrassed about it.

Ren went to him and held the cup to Poe’s chapped, dry lips.  That was embarrassing too, but with his hands tied, Poe had no way of holding the cup himself.  And even then, Poe half-expected Ren to dash the contents in his face at the last second.  Yet Ren held the cup still and let Poe bend his head forward to close his lips over the rim.  There was a split in the tin on the edge, and Poe cut his lip on it but didn’t even notice as he drank.  He didn’t notice _anything_ but the slight coolness of the water and how it felt first in his mouth, then sliding down his throat.  Swallowing hurt, and Poe didn’t care.

He gulped two big slurps of water before the level dropped too low for him to get more; then he pressed the rim of the cup down with his mouth to tilt it towards him.  Ren snatched the cup away, and Poe nearly fell forward, knocking the cup and sloshing most of what remained on his face and down the front of his shirt.

Barely conscious of his actions in his fury at having the water taken away, Poe snarled up at Ren, “Fuck you—” before he aspirated the last of what he was swallowing and dissolved into a coughing fit.  By the time Poe finally got his breath again, he had almost as much of his own spit on him as water, as well as a small amount of blood.  The two dark red spots soaking into the thighs of his worn jeans startled him, until he felt the sting of his cut lip.  Poe drew it into his mouth between his teeth and tongued it; the metallic taste told him where the blood was coming from.

“You’re drinking it too fast,” muttered Ren.  “You’re gonna make yourself sick.  I’ll give you more in a minute.”  He set the cup on the kitchen table and pulled a second bandana—also black—out of his back pocket.  When he reached for Poe, the smaller man tried to draw back.

“Dammit, hold still,” growled Ren.  He grasped Poe’s chin with one hand and held the bandana to his bleeding lip with the other.  Poe glared up at him with a mixture of confusion and resentment.

“What do you want with me?” Poe demanded, his words slightly muffled by the bandana.  He couldn’t reconcile the gentle, though gruff, way Ren treated him with the outlaw’s earlier behavior.  Yet Ren refused to give Poe an answer at first.  He held the bandana against Poe’s mouth a moment longer, then used it to wipe the water and spit from Poe’s face.

“Do you want some more water?” Ren asked.  Even after he shoved the bandana back in his pocket, he held Poe’s chin fast with one large hand.  His eyes moved over Poe’s face as if he were looking for something, until Poe nodded.  Then Ren let him go and took the cup back to the pump.

“What do you want with me?” Poe asked a second time, speaking up over the squeal of the old pump as Ren worked it.  “Do you still want to know where the map is?”

Ren finally answered, “I know where the map is.  It won’t do me any good now.”

Ren returned to Poe and held the cup to his mouth again.  This time Poe drank a moderate amount, slowly.  He realized that his headache had lessened a little bit, and he tried again to remember what had happened.

_I was looking at his hands, his long fingers.  He had his gloves on, and I wondered what his hands looked like bare._   They were bare now, and Poe’s eyes dropped to look at them and the way the silvery tin of the cup contrasted with their skin.  The shine of the metal reminded him:   _Ren was holding a shotgun shell, and he spun it through his fingers, and I watched.  I watched. . . and I slept_.

Poe’s eyes darted back up to Ren’s face, and he hissed, “You hypnotized me.”  Ren looked at him mildly before he turned to set the cup back down on the table.

“You hypnotized me,” Poe repeated, “and you made me tell you.”

“I didn’t have to _make_ you,” Ren observed.  “You were quite loquacious.”

Poe chose to ignore that and went on, “You didn’t get it though, did you?  I got it away from you.  So why am I here now?”  He glared up at Ren with narrowed eyes.  “Why did you even let me live?”

“I want to know how _you_ know Leia Solo,” said Ren.  Poe blinked.  He hadn’t known what sort of answer to expect, but that certainly wasn’t it.

“I—I don’t, not really,” Poe stammered.  “I needed work and she hired me to track down the map.  That’s all.”  He studied Ren’s face, noted a vaguely suspicious look there, and taunted, “What, did you think there was some conspiracy at work here?  Well there isn’t—she told me all about you, and that was more than enough to make me want to stop you.”

“She told you all about me,” repeated Ren.  His brows lowered and drew closer together as he glared right back at Poe.  “And just what is ‘all about me’?”

Poe was getting more and more confused, and between that and the diminishing headache, he couldn’t think of any reason not to answer.

“That you own cattle—a _lot_ of cattle—but it wasn’t enough for you,” he muttered.  “Last year, they opened a mine over about eighty miles to the west, and that gave you the idea there might be gold around here too.  So you decided you had to control the town too, and everyone in it.  And when you couldn’t get that one last ranch, you—you killed a defenseless old man and burned down a whole town and had me _tortured._   All because you can’t stand it when anyone tells you no!”

Poe’s voice had risen to a near shout by the end, as he grew angrier and angrier.  His narration made him understand Ren was just like a spoiled child, demanding to have his way and throwing a tantrum when he didn’t get it.  But the difference between Kylo Ren and a child was that Ren’s tantrums were deadly.

Poe could tell that _he’d_ finally made Ren angry too.  The tall man’s brown eyes now looked nearly black in his pale face, and they had narrowed to slits above his bandana.  But then, to Poe’s amazement, Ren relaxed, and some of the tension went out of his body.

“That does sound like something she’d say about me,” Ren observed.  Poe stared up at him a second, then slumped back in the chair with a strained sigh.

“So that’s it, that’s all you wanted to know?  What, are you gonna shoot me now?”  At Poe’s sardonic questioning, Ren actually rolled his eyes, and the gesture made him seem a little more human.

He muttered, “You certainly have a mouth on you.”

“Least you can _see_ my mouth,” Poe grumbled.  Then he was hit with another memory: himself asking, “Why the bandana though?  What’re you hiding?  Are you scarred, or. . . or just really ugly?”

_Christ, it’s a wonder he didn’t shoot me then,_ Poe thought as he felt his face flush. _What else did I say while he had me under, while I was being so “loquacious”?_

Ren’s brow wrinkled above his dark eyes as he glared down at Poe.  He lifted a hand to grasp the corner of the bandana pointing downward on his chest.  With a jerk, he pulled the black fabric down off his face to hang around his neck.

He wasn’t scarred, and he wasn’t ugly.  Strange-looking, but not ugly.  A deep scar ran from his forehead down his right cheek, narrowly missing his eye.  His nose was large and his mouth wide, but his lips were full and beautiful, as beautiful as—

_“You have the most beautiful eyes.”  Dear God, I told him his eyes were beautiful._   If Poe’s face was flushed before, it had to be on fire now as he remembered what he had said to Kylo Ren just a few hours ago.

“So now you see why I cover my face,” growled Ren.

“What?” Poe mumbled as he lifted his gaze from the other man’s mouth to the eyes he’d so admired the night before.  Poe had been looking at Ren’s individual features, but now he saw the man’s face as a whole.  For some reason, it seemed familiar.

Ren replied in his deep voice, “You were right about me being ugly.”

“What?” Poe repeated, bewildered.  “No, you. . . you aren’t.”

“Then why are you staring at me?” Ren muttered.

Poe’s eyes moved over the outlaw’s face again; then he finally explained, “You. . . you look so familiar.”  Ren’s eyes widened slightly in a look of surprise, a look almost of _fear_ , and for Poe, everything fell into place.

“I _know_ you,” Poe whispered.  “It was a long time ago, but I’ve met you before.”

\--

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

Poe was fourteen, and the other boy was maybe twelve or thirteen.  The fear on his face made him look younger, though, even though his body was tall and lanky.  Poe could tell that much even though the kid was folded up and trembling, cowering in front of the bright green _gushnayera_ eyeing him with disdainful irritation.

“ _¡No te muevas!_ ” Poe called to the boy, who only looked at him with blank incomprehension.  He didn’t seem to speak Spanish, and Poe’s English wasn’t very good.  Poe gestured at him instead, palms out in an attempt to tell the kid to stay put lest he goad the snake into striking.  The other boy didn’t show any signs of wanting to move, anyway; it was his cries for help (one English word Poe did know well) that had drawn Poe to him.

If his sunburned skin and lack of Spanish hadn’t told Poe that the kid was a tourist, the fact that he had let himself get cornered by a snake would.  Probably he was the son of some wealthy family who had come inland on the river for a better look at the quaint little locals and their quaint little village—the kind of boy who would scoff at Poe and his friends, and think of them as uneducated heathens.  Except this particular brat had wandered off on his own, gotten himself lost in the thick foliage along the riverbanks, and nearly been snake-bit because of his foolishness.  Now Poe, who had finished his chores early in order to have some time to himself, had to spend the afternoon saving the kid and leading him back to the village of Río Dulce, a few miles away.

“ _Tontito,_ ” Poe muttered under his breath.  He pulled his lightweight _pistola_ from the holster he wore on his belt and aimed it at the rampant snake.  The other boy gasped and stared up at Poe with his dark eyes wide, as if he thought Poe were about to shoot _him_.  Poe bit back a chuckle, stretched his arm out a little farther, and fired with a deliberate casualness meant to impress the stunned boy.  Despite his target’s small size, Poe shot the snake’s head off cleanly, and it fell to the dirt with a sound like someone tossing a rope on the ground.

The other boy yelped at the gunfire and drew back in horror from the blood that oozed from what was left of the snake’s body.  Poe felt bad about that; he didn’t like to kill animals needlessly, even snakes, and he usually practiced his shooting on inanimate targets.  But he figured he would have felt worse if he let another person get hurt. . . even if that other person was a stupid foreigner.

Poe holstered the _pistola_ and walked over to the boy.  When the kid just stayed crouched there at the foot of the tree where he’d been cornered, Poe smiled and bent down to offer his hand.  The stranger’s dark eyes—they were a deep, rich brown—looked up at him with some residual fear, but then the boy put his hand in Poe’s and allowed Poe to help him stand.  He was larger than Poe had realized: his white hand swallowed Poe’s tan one, and he was a whole head taller.  But despite that, his face looked young, and Poe decided he’d guessed the boy’s age correctly.

“ _G-gracias,_ ” the boy stammered, although he cast a sideways look at the dead snake.  Pleased by the kid’s attempt at communicating in Spanish, Poe smiled more brightly.

“ _De nada_ ,” Poe said.  When he loosened his hold on the other boy’s hand, the kid curled his fingers up into a fist and held it at his side.  Poe added, “ _Soy Poe_.”  The other boy just looked at him.  Poe sighed, pointed at himself and said again, “Poe.”

“Poe?” the boy repeated.  Poe nodded.  The other relaxed, just a little, pointed at himself, and said, “Benjamin.”  After a pause, he added, “Ben.”

Through gestures, Poe tried to convey that he would take Ben back to the village.  He succeeded in convincing the other boy to follow him, and Poe hoped that Ben really had come from _his_ village and not some other town farther afield.  But even if so, Poe reasoned, some of the inhabitants of Río Dulce  spoke English, and they could find out where Ben belonged.

As they walked, Poe snuck glances at his companion.  Ben’s face was badly sunburned along his large nose, his cheeks, and his forehead, but otherwise his skin was pale though marked with several spots and blemishes.  Everything about him seemed oversized: nose, ears, hands and feet, and of course the long legs that made him tower over Poe.  From the way Ben walked with his head down and arms folded, and the sullen, defensive look he gave Poe when he caught Poe looking at him, Poe concluded that other kids had teased Ben about the way he looked, maybe even kids in Río Dulce.  (Probably the girls, Poe decided, whose derisive laughter would need no translation.  In his experience, girls were far crueler than boys, who would just throw a punch or two, then make friends with you in a matter of minutes.)

But Poe didn’t find Ben ugly.  He looked as exotic to Poe as Poe probably looked to him, and Poe liked his piercing eyes and full lips.  And his hair. . . even though it was now soaked with sweat, Poe thought it was beautiful: black and worn long like a girl’s, so that it brushed Ben’s shoulders.  Poe wished he could express some of his opinions to Ben, but the language barrier made that impossible.  Instead, Poe just smiled at Ben the next time their eyes met, instead of looking away.  The sunburn on Ben’s cheeks deepened, and then he smiled back, timidly.

Poe was a little sorry when they drew near to Río Dulce; he’d begun to enjoy the walk after all.  However, Ben’s face brightened, and he pointed at the settlement when it came into view ahead of them.

“Fronteras?” he asked.  Poe nodded; that was the official name of the town.

“Fronteras,” Poe confirmed, then added in careful English, “or Río Dulce.  Same thing.”

“Oh,” said Ben.  “Río Dulce.”  His voice was rather deep for a boy his age, and the name of Poe’s home sounded funny spoken in it, especially with the odd way Ben pronounced the Spanish words.  But Ben was making an effort, and Poe liked him for it.

When they got to the little market in Río Dulce, Ben seemed to understand where he was.  A look of recognition tinged with relief passed over his face.  He stopped Poe with a hand on his arm and pointed toward the side of town where the nicest houses were; that was where the tourists usually stayed.  Poe wasn’t surprised by that, but he _was_ surprised by the way his heart sank.  He nodded and pointed in nearly the opposite direction, toward the small home Poe shared with his father Kes.  Ben gave him a concerned look, and Poe wondered if his own disappointment had shown on his face.  He forced a smile and parroted a little wave to tell Ben to go on.

“ _Adiós_ ,” Poe murmured.

Ben smiled back and said, “Goodbye.”  Then he turned and walked quickly back toward where he belonged.  Still, Poe thought Ben’s smile had looked a little sad too.

Poe didn’t expect to see Ben again, but the next morning, the boy was there in the market.  Poe’s father had told him to go there and pick up some vegetables for dinner before starting his chores, and Poe spotted Ben wandering around the stalls with a bored expression on his sunburnt face.  Poe smiled to himself, thinking that it must be nice to have enough free time to be bored.  He thought about calling out to Ben but hesitated; he wasn’t sure that the other boy would want to see him.

But then Ben glanced up and noticed Poe a few yards away.  He took a step forward then hesitated too, until their eyes met and Poe smiled at him.  After that, Ben approached, although there was still something shy about his demeanor.

“ _¡Hola!_ ” Poe said cheerfully.

Ben smiled too and countered with, “Hello.”  He looked down at the basket of plantains Poe had propped on one hip and asked, “Bananas?”  Poe grinned and shook his head.

“ _Plátanos_ ,” he explained.  He was trying to remember the English word when Ben perked up.

“Plantains?”

“ _¡Sí!_ ” Poe chuckled.  Ben looked at the basket again and opened his mouth, then shut it with a slightly frustrated look.  Poe wondered if Ben was trying to figure out how to ask what the difference was between plantains and bananas, but Poe wouldn’t have been able to explain it in English anyway.  Ben glanced up at Poe and shrugged, and they both started laughing at the same time.

Then an idea struck Poe.  He grabbed Ben’s arm and moved a few steps toward his own small house, tilting his head in that direction to indicate that he wanted Ben to come with him.  Ben blinked and looked over his shoulder toward the houses where he was staying, but then he came along with Poe.  Poe wasn’t supposed to goof off before his chores were done—and he figured his father would probably say having friends over was goofing off—but he decided there wasn’t much chance of them getting caught.  Kes would be out working in the fields until sundown, and that gave Poe plenty of time to do his own work _and_ hang out with Ben.

He did feel a little guilty, although not for spending time with his new friend.  Almost all the other boys Poe’s age were already working alongside the men, learning their trades as farmers, merchants, or artisans.  In fact, usually only girls and very young boys did chores at home during the daytime.  But, Poe reminded himself, the other boys had mothers to do the shopping and cleaning and small repairs for their households.  Poe’s own mother had died what seemed to him like a long time ago, and ever since, he had had to take on her work.  It wasn’t all easy, by any means, but he still felt like he didn’t work as hard as the other boys.  A few of them did tease him and call him lazy or girly.  However, Poe was well-liked overall, despite having no close friends, and he was harder on himself than the others were.

Once Poe had led Ben to his home, he pushed the door open and motioned for Ben to follow him inside.  Ben crept in after him and looked around the little one-room house shyly.  He seemed especially tall, and a bit out-of-place, there.  Poe coaxed Ben into sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Kes’s bed, where Poe spread his own sleeping mat at night; then he put away the plantains he’d bought, all except for one.  He grabbed a banana too from the stash they already had, then joined Ben on the floor.

Poe held up the plantain and announced, “ _Plátano_.”  Then he brandished the banana in his other hand and said, “ _Banana_.”  Ben looked at the two fruits rather skeptically; the plantain was a little bigger and a little less yellow, but they did look awfully similar.  Poe chuckled and deftly stripped the skin from the top half of the plantain, then held it out to Ben.

Ben took it and, with a defiant glare at Poe, bit off the top.  As soon as he started chewing, he grimaced, and Poe thought Ben was about to spit the bitter fruit out, but somehow he managed to swallow it. 

Ben dropped the rest of the plantain and snarled, “You little bastard!” at Poe.  Poe knew enough English to understand _that_ , but it only made him laugh.  He peeled the banana and held it out.  Ben glowered at it and shook his head.  Poe dissolved into another fit of laughter; then he broke off the end of the banana and ate it himself, still chuckling.  Ben finally took the rest and nibbled at the broken end cautiously.  When he tasted how sweet and soft it was—it was pretty ripe—he relaxed.  Poe grinned at him and pointed at the two pieces of fruit again.

“ _Plátano.  Banana._ ”

Ben rolled his eyes and mimicked Poe in English: “Plantain.  Banana.”  But his full lips curled into a smile that made Poe’s heart beat a little faster, and after that, Ben actually laughed.

While Poe finished up the rest of his chores that morning, Ben stayed at his side.  Poe was glad for the company and tried his best to make the other boy understand everything he did, either through gestures or what English he knew.  Ben did try to learn some Spanish as well, although Poe frequently had to correct his pronunciation.  As noon approached, Poe started to wonder what they were going to do about lunch—he wasn’t sure what Ben liked to eat, and a boy as big as he was probably ate quite a lot.  However, when he saw how high the sun had gotten in the sky, Ben indicated that he had to leave, and Poe assumed he was expected to have the noon meal with his parents, or whoever it was he traveled with.

They were outside, where Poe had been repairing a bit of the house’s wall that had been damaged in a recent storm.  Ben had tried to help as much as he could, and Poe didn’t have the heart to let the other boy know he was actually just getting in the way.

“ _Adiós,_ ” Ben murmured when it was time for him to go.

Poe smiled at him and said, “ _Hasta la vista,_ ” instead.  At Ben’s quizzical look, Poe explained in English, “Not goodbye.  See you again.”

“Oh!”  Ben smiled too, that awkward, endearing smile Poe already loved to see.  He took a step back toward the center of town, then repeated, “ _¡Hasta la vista!_ ” before he turned and jogged away.

\--

Over the next couple weeks, Poe saw Ben every day, most often in the afternoons when Poe had finished his work for the day.  They explored the ever-changing banks along the river with its overgrown vegetation and plethora of wildlife—including a few snakes which they were careful to avoid, although Poe teased Ben about them.  Poe taught Ben a few Spanish words and phrases, and Ben helped Poe with his English.  While they couldn’t exactly carry on a full conversation, they communicated effectively enough, and Poe truly enjoyed the other boy’s company.  Ben was smart and strong, despite his delicate complexion, and they had fun together.

At times, Poe did find Ben immature.  The younger boy tended to get upset over what seemed like minor annoyances to Poe, such as when Ben’s parents kept him in late after lunch one day, or when the boys stumbled upon a cloud of mosquitoes near the river.  Not that Poe liked having itchy welts all over his face and arms either, but he was able to laugh about it once they had run to safety, shrieking and swatting at each other.  Poe laughed all the harder when he saw the red bumps all over Ben’s face, but he fell into stunned silence when Ben started shrieking again—this time at Poe.  Poe understood some of what he was yelling (the curse words, mostly) but not all of it, and he had no idea why Ben was so angry, especially at _him_ and not just at the vicious mosquitoes.  Maybe Ben thought Poe had been mocking him by laughing, yet surely he saw that Poe was in the same splotchy, itchy condition.

Ben’s tantrum made Poe angry too, but more than anything else, it hurt his feelings.  He glared and snapped a retort at Ben in Spanish.  Ben stared, apparently not used to being contradicted; then he yelled all the louder.  He crouched down and snatched a handful of the weedy grass they’d been running through and pitched it in Poe’s direction.  Of course, it scattered harmlessly into the air as soon as it left his hand, but the fact that Ben would throw _anything_ at him wounded Poe.

Poe turned and stalked away without another word, rubbing at his itching face.  He heard Ben shout something after him, but Poe ignored him.   He went straight home and stayed inside for the rest of the afternoon.  That was unusual behavior for Poe, but he didn’t want to go anywhere he might risk running into Ben.  By the time he started preparing his and his father’s dinner, the redness of Poe’s mosquito bites had faded, and the swelling was nearly gone when he woke up the next morning.  They still itched a little, but Poe tried not to scratch as he cleared away breakfast and straightened up the house once Kes had left for the day.

Then Poe looked over at the market basket and sighed.  He needed to go shopping (for plantains, no less), and he would just have to take the chance that he might run into Ben.  Poe wasn’t angry at the other boy anymore, but he still hurt every time he thought about the fury in Ben’s dark eyes, and the violence in his motions as he threw the grass.

He did run into Ben, and a lot sooner than he’d expected: when Poe came out of his house with the basket, he found Ben sitting on the ground outside, just a few yards from the door.  Poe wondered how long Ben had been there waiting for him, and if Kes had passed him on his way to the fields.  For some reason, the thought of his _Papá_ seeing Ben hanging around embarrassed Poe.

As soon as he saw Poe, Ben scrambled to his feet.  His mosquito bites had faded too, although they still looked a little red.  By then, several days after Ben’s arrival, his sunburn had sunk into a tan, but his skin was still far paler than Poe’s, which was a warm brown from the afternoons they’d spent outside.  Thus, Ben’s welts were more prominent than Poe’s, and maybe they had bothered him more.  Poe drew back a little, afraid that Ben was about to start shouting at him again.  Yet the taller boy didn’t look angry anymore.  In fact, he looked pretty sorry.

“ _Hola,_ ” Poe muttered, still with some trepidation.

Ben licked his lips and said, “ _Hola._ ”  He took a couple steps toward Poe, then stopped and blurted out, “ _P-perdón. . . por favor._ ”

Poe stared at him in surprise.  He had never taught Ben how to say “I’m sorry,” so Ben must have asked someone else what he should say to apologize.  Knowing that, plus the contrite and worried look on Ben’s face, made Poe smile.

“ _No pasa nada,_ ” he said, then repeated in English, “It’s okay, Ben.”  Ben’s eyes lit up with hope, but his mouth stayed set in a nervous grimace until Poe chuckled and went over to him.  Poe dropped his basket and hugged Ben to reassure him, repeating, “It’s okay!”

Ben’s reaction surprised him; the larger boy tensed up and stiffened when Poe’s arms went around his shoulders.  People in Poe’s village touched one another frequently, and even the boys hugged their friends from time to time.  Ben, however, acted as if Poe had done something bizarre and unwelcome.  Wondering if Ben was still angry at him in spite of his apology, Poe started to pull away.  But then the other boy lifted his own arms and embraced Poe’s waist loosely.  Poe realized then that he had probably just stumbled upon another difference between his upbringing and Ben’s.

Ben was so tall, Poe had to tilt his chin up and rest it on Ben’s shoulder when he squeezed Ben tighter in his arms.  Ben’s arms finally tightened around Poe, too; then they let each other go.  Ben was blushing, his cheeks almost as red as they had been with his sunburn.  Poe didn’t understand why the situation was so awkward for Ben, because he himself had liked hugging the other boy.  Ben’s body had felt warm and strong as he enveloped Poe, and Poe even liked how much larger Ben was than him.  Something about Ben made Poe feel safe and content.  But apparently Ben didn’t feel the same way, and Poe decided he should try to avoid touching his friend in the future.

\--

He changed his mind soon enough, because Ben began touching him instead—no more hugs, just shy, small touches on the arm or shoulder.  Still, that was enough to satisfy Poe that Ben did like him and value their friendship.  When they were far away from the village one day, Poe took Ben’s hand to guide him through a tangle of overgrowth, and Ben didn’t let go even when they were past the vegetation.

That was a little different from hugging.  In Poe’s experience, although girls sometimes held hands, boys usually didn’t.  In fact, unless he was very young, a boy usually didn’t hold the hand of _anyone_ , at least not until he found a girl who interested him.  But Ben’s hand felt nice and large and warm just like the rest of him, so Poe didn’t mind.  Ben finally let go when they got close to Río Dulce, but from then on, they wandered the riverbanks hand-in-hand.

One afternoon about three weeks after Poe first saw Ben and saved him from the _gushnayera_ , Ben asked Poe to come out and meet him that night.  They had always parted ways before dinner without meeting again until the next morning at the earliest, but for some reason, Ben seemed anxious to see Poe after dark.  Poe agreed, a little reluctantly—he knew he’d get in trouble if his father caught him sneaking out at night.  However, Ben had acted subdued and distracted all that afternoon, and Poe cared too much about him to upset him further.

So that night, once he was certain Kes was asleep, Poe got up from his mat and crept out of their house as quietly as he could.  The moon, nearly full, illuminated the quiet village, and Poe could see Ben clearly.  Ben waited for Poe in the same spot where he’d been the day he apologized for losing his temper.  Poe smiled and went to him, but the unhappy expression on Ben’s face worried him.  Ben grabbed for his hand right away, then tugged Poe toward the trees growing behind the small houses in the area.

Once they were hidden among the trees, Ben let go of Poe’s hand and stood facing him.  He looked so sad as he gazed down at Poe, the smaller boy frowned and asked, _“¿Qué pasa?”_

“I have to go home,” Ben mumbled.  “Tomorrow.”

At first, Poe thought of “home” as meaning the nice house in Río Dulce where Ben was a guest, and Poe didn’t understand what he meant.  Then Poe realized that Ben spoke of his _real_ home, wherever it was he had come from.  Poe felt simultaneously devastated and very stupid for not comprehending that this day would come.  Even though Ben had become a part of Poe’s life, even though he had in fact become Poe’s best friend, he had a real home somewhere else.  Somewhere far away from Río Dulce and Poe.

“Where is home?” Poe whispered in English.

Ben said, “Utah.  It’s. . . .”  He hesitated, then shrugged and just said, “North.  El, el—”

“ _Al norte,_ ” Poe corrected automatically, but his thoughts were elsewhere, wondering how far away Utah was and what life was like there.  Did Ben have friends there, friends who were tall and pale instead of small and dark, friends who lived in nice houses and spoke perfect English?  Did he ever hug them or hold their hands?  Poe had never known true jealousy until that moment, when he realized he didn’t want to share Ben with anyone else.  He felt ashamed for it.

“Poe. . . .”  Ben’s deep voice broke into Poe’s thoughts.  When Poe looked up at him again, Ben said, “I don’t want to, but I have to.  My parents—they have a ranch, and they’ve been away a long time.  We—we have to go back.”  Poe understood most of the words, and all of the bitterness behind them.

“ _No pasa nada_ ,” he said, although his voice trembled a little.  Ben shook his head hard, and his brow clouded with anger.

“It’s _not_ ‘ _nada_ ,’” Ben growled.  “I don’t want to go!  They always make me do what I don’t want to do!”

“Ben—” Poe tried to interrupt, afraid that the other boy would throw another tantrum.  However, Ben threw his arms around Poe instead, pulled him close, and held him tight.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he mumbled into Poe’s hair.

“Ben. . . .”  Poe’s eyes and throat ached with abrupt tears, and he pressed his face into Ben’s shirt.  “I—I do not want it too.”  He felt one of Ben’s arms encircling his back and his other hand tangling into Poe’s untamable curly hair.  The touch made words Poe had never expected to say, words he’d never even _thought_ about, tumble from his lips: “ _¡Te amo!  Ben, te amo. . . ._ ”

Poe drew in a hard breath, gasping past the suppressed tears and his own surprise at what he’d said.  He wasn’t sure Ben understood the phrase, until Ben clutched Poe even tighter against him.

“I love you too, Poe,” he whispered.  “ _Te amo_.”  Ben stroked Poe’s hair then slid his hand down over Poe’s cheek.  Poe leaned his head into Ben’s hand as the taller boy tilted it up.  Ben’s dark brown eyes looked black in the bluish light from the moon, and they shone with tears like Poe knew his own eyes must.  Ben held Poe’s head still and leaned down, tilting his own head to the side.  Poe had no idea what Ben was doing until their lips touched.

Poe didn’t like kissing.  His first kiss had been several years ago, at a bonfire where most of the kids in Río Dulce had gathered apart from the adults to play games.  As part of one such game, another boy had dared Poe to kiss a certain little girl their age.  Poe had done it to avoid being called a coward, and it wasn’t _bad_ , but it wasn’t much fun either—just a quick peck on the lips, after which they both scrubbed their mouths with the backs of their hands, while the other children whooped and teased them.

Poe had kissed a few girls since then, trying to learn how to like it.  There was no shortage of girls willing to kiss Poe Dameron, in Río Dulce and several villages beyond, but Poe had never really enjoyed it.  He couldn’t understand why boys even younger than him bragged about kissing girls, or why the older boys seemed obsessed with it, not to mention all the other things Poe hadn’t done yet but which apparently came after kissing.

Eventually, Poe decided he just hadn’t met the right girl yet.  When he did meet the one who was meant for him, the way his _Mamá_ had been meant for his _Papá_ , Poe would like kissing her.  But Ben was not a girl, and Poe liked kissing him anyway.

Ben didn’t kiss very well, at least not at first, and Poe wondered if he’d ever kissed _anyone_ before.  His lips fumbled over Poe’s, and his tongue missed Poe’s mouth entirely and nearly licked his chin instead.  But then Poe parted his lips and Ben’s tongue slipped between them.  They kissed clumsily a few seconds before both drew their heads back a couple inches and their mouths broke apart.  Poe could hear Ben breathing hard, as hard as Poe himself was panting.

As shaken and startled as he felt, Poe wanted more.  He lifted up on his toes so he could reach Ben’s mouth, and he kissed Ben again.  Ben responded without hesitation.  That second kiss was smoother than the first, and Poe thought that if they had only started sooner, a day or a week ago, they’d be excellent kissers by now.  When they next drew back, Poe smiled with amazement at how right it finally felt to do something so intimate with another person.

Then he remembered that Ben was going home and that their first kisses would also be their last.  The two looked at each other, and after the smile dropped from his face, Poe had to bite his own lip to keep it from trembling.

“I have to go,” Ben whispered.  “I won’t—won’t see you to-tomorrow—”  He broke off and turned his face aside.  Poe saw his throat working as he swallowed back a sob.

“ _S_ _í_ ,” Poe mumbled.

Ben looked back at him and said, “ _Adiós,_ ” but Poe shook his head and forced a smile.

“ _Hasta la vista._ ”  Poe reached up and took Ben’s face in both hands, then pulled Ben down to kiss him one last time, just a light kiss on his lips.  Ben hugged Poe to him again, tightly, before releasing the smaller boy.  He turned and walked away so quickly, he almost ran.  Poe saw Ben’s broad shoulders shudder before he disappeared around the side of one of the houses.

Poe just stood there alone for nearly a full minute fighting back his own urge to cry, but then he realized it was a losing battle.  Either he wept now, or he would risk breaking down once he was back inside where his father might hear.  Poe plopped down on the ground, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed until he was exhausted.  When he thought he didn’t have any tears left in him, Poe wiped his wet face on his shirt and trudged back to the front of the house.  The moon still illuminated Río Dulce, and it looked as empty to Poe as if Ben had already gone away, sailing with his parents up the river that gave Fronteras its nickname, out into the Caribbean Sea, then vaguely northwards to somewhere called Utah.

Poe slipped back inside and lay down on his mat, certain he’d fall asleep quickly from feeling so tired.  Kes hadn’t woken up, and Poe listened to his father’s even, quiet breathing and tried to match it.  Yet his thoughts kept turning back to how Ben’s arms and lips had felt, and soon Poe realized he was crying again.  He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, muffling any noise he made against his arm so he wouldn’t disturb his father’s slumber.

\--

_Hasta la vista_ notwithstanding, Poe didn’t think he’d ever see Ben again.  The next week was agonizing for him, all the more so because he had to hide his sadness from his father and everyone else he saw.  The weeks which followed got a little easier, and the coming months and years easier still, but Poe never stopped thinking of Ben entirely.

When Poe was eighteen, he left Río Dulce much the same way Ben had, on a small ship sailing up the river to the sea; however, Poe went as part of its crew, hired to fill in for a deckhand who’d fallen ill.  Poe felt guilty for leaving his father alone, but Kes assured Poe that he wanted his son to go.  Kes wasn’t so unobservant as to be ignorant of how dissatisfied Poe was with life in the quiet village, although he couldn’t have known just why that dissatisfaction had begun to grow four years before.  So Poe told himself, anyway.

Therefore, he bid his father farewell without too much regret.  Poe learned his duties as a sailor quickly and enjoyed his time on the Caribbean past Río Dulce, and on the Gulf of Mexico past that.  Although he was offered the chance to stay on after the ship sailed into port in New Orleans, Poe decided to disembark and make his fortune on land instead.

He liked New Orleans and managed to pick up a little French to supplement his now-fluent English, but he didn’t want to stay there for too long either.  To Poe, staying in one place got boring whether that place was a small village or a big city.  After investigating the trains that ran out of New Orleans, Poe boarded one headed west toward Utah.

He didn’t entertain any hopes of finding Ben.  Poe didn’t know his friend’s last name, or anything about his family other than that they owned a ranch and must be rich.  Yet Utah held a special mystique for Poe just by virtue of being Ben’s home, and Poe decided it was as good a place to go as any.

Years went by, and Poe made his living with the gun skills he’d had even at fourteen.  He still tried kissing women from time to time, hoping he’d learn to like it, but he never did.  He got to kiss a few men, too, even though those were few and far between.  While Poe enjoyed that more, none of those men made him feel the way his first love had under the moon back in Río Dulce.  Poe resigned himself to living life on his own, and eventually dying on his own too, without ever seeing his beloved’s face again.

But then Kylo Ren pulled down the bandana masking him, and Poe saw that face once more.

\--

To be continued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the word “ _plátano_ ” is actually used for bananas too, but I didn’t know how else to make the banana scene work without different words for the two different fruits. I don't speak or read Spanish, so my apologies for that and any other mistakes ^^;
> 
> Also, the present-day parts of this story take place in what is now Nevada, in 1859. Nevada was part of Utah until 1861, so Ben says he's from Utah.


	5. Chapter 5

“I _know_ you,” Poe whispered.  “It was a long time ago, but I’ve met you before.”

Kylo Ren’s eyes had returned to their usual narrowed expression, and he scoffed, “Really.  Where would _you_ have met _me_?”  Poe might have doubted his own conviction if he didn’t remember that look on Ben’s face too, the times he’d been angry.  His face had matured, his voice had deepened further, and he’d grown even taller, but Poe was certain that the outlaw looming over him was the boy he’d loved.

_But why doesn’t he remember me?_ Poe wondered.  _Or if he’s just pretending not to. . . how could he have done this to me?_   Both possibilities added more threads of confusion and hurt to the tangle of emotions Poe already felt.  He ultimately decided to answer Ren’s question honestly on the chance that he really didn’t recognize or remember Poe, and the story might jog his memory.

Poe’s eyes had drifted over Ren’s body, reconciling it with his memory of how Ben felt in his arms, but now Poe looked back into the other man’s eyes as he murmured, “In Guatemala.  You were visiting my village with your parents.  You only stayed for a few weeks, but we—”

To Poe’s horror, he felt the urge to weep threatening him.  He blinked hard and averted his eyes before continuing.

“We were friends,” he muttered, “until you left, until your parents took you back home.  It’s been. . . twenty years at least, but I never forgot.”

Ren remained silent for so long, Poe thought he might not answer at all.  Poe kept his eyes turned away because he couldn’t trust them to stay dry, until Ren finally muttered, “You’ve made a mistake.  Whoever it was you knew, I’m not him.”

Hearing that, Poe jerked his gaze back to the other man, and he searched for some sign on the pale, impassive face that Ren was lying.  But Poe saw nothing there, no expression at all.

Poe couldn’t stop himself from protesting, “But I _know_ it was you, it had to be!”  He leaned forward, wanting to stand up from his chair but afraid of the repercussions.  Instead, he added, “Your face, your eyes. . . they’re all the same!  Why don’t _you_ remember _me_ , Ben?  I haven’t changed that much!”

Ren’s eyes narrowed further, and he growled, “My name isn’t Ben.  Maybe you’ve got me confused with someone else, or maybe you think making up some sad story will make me feel sorry for you—but you’re wrong either way.”

Poe stared at Ren with a feeling almost as miserable as the night he and Ben had said goodbye.  It was like saying goodbye all over again, and the hope that had surged up in Poe died away.  This man couldn’t be Ben, because for all his fiery temper and attitude, Ben hadn’t been just plain _mean_.

“I’m not making it up,” Poe muttered as he bowed his head and glared down at the dusty floorboards beneath his boots.  His voice came out harsh even though he no longer felt like crying.  Now it was harsh out of anger when he growled, “I remember it.  I remember _him_.”

Instead of a reply, Poe only heard the clump of Ren’s own heavy boots crossing the floor, and the squeak of the kitchen door when he pushed it open.

“Get back in here,” Ren said to someone outside, and when Poe looked up again, the black man was coming into the room.  He drew back against the wall, keeping as much distance between himself and Ren as possible, but Ren barely even looked at him on his way to the door except to order, “Give him something to eat—you can untie his hands, but keep a gun on him.  When he’s done, take him back out to the stable and tie him up.  Someone else will be out there to keep an eye on him by then.”

“Yessir,” the subordinate mumbled, but Poe’s attention was fixed on Ren as he stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked back at Poe.  For just an instant, Poe saw some kind of unreadable emotion in the dark eyes that looked so familiar.  Yet as soon as he saw Poe looking back, Ren’s eyes froze over again, and the coldness made Poe hate him.

“ _Hasta la vista_ ,” Poe spat.  Without replying, Ren turned his back and walked out the door.

Ren’s subordinate moved out from the wall and went over to the stove, where he began dishing up what was, in fact, stew.  Poe watched over his shoulder, mouth watering, and almost forgot all about Kylo Ren.

“Uh, your name’s Dameron, right?” the other man asked.  He sounded jumpy, but Poe didn’t blame him, having Ren breathing down his neck all the time.

“Yeah, Poe Dameron.  Most people call me Poe.”  Poe hesitated, then asked, “What’s yours?”  His new friend turned away from the stove, carrying a tin bowl of the stew.  He looked a little surprised, but he answered.

“Finn.  Uh. . . just Finn.”

“Okay, Finn.”  Poe managed a smile, which wasn’t really too difficult when he thought about finally getting something to eat.  Finn put the bowl on the table and looked down at the empty cup with the split rim.

“Did—did Ren give you water?” he stammered.

“Yeah.”  Poe frowned at the reminder of Ren’s strange behavior.  “Uh, could I have some more though?  Please?”  Finn glanced at him, then laughed suddenly.  The laughter changed his face entirely, and Poe decided he looked a lot better without his previous anxious expression.

“What’s so funny?” Poe challenged with a little smile of his own.

“You.  You got the biggest, brownest hound-dog eyes I’ve ever seen, when you want something,” Finn chuckled.  “Since Ren’s letting you eat, I guess they even work on him.”

As Finn took the cup over to the pump to fill it, Poe muttered, “Not really.”

After bringing the cup of water on the table, Finn moved behind Poe’s chair to untie his wrists.  He dropped the length of rope on the floor then took a step back so Poe had room to drag the chair over to the table.

“Uh, don’t try to, to run,” Finn mumbled half-heartedly.  “I’ve got a gun.”

“Hmph,” Poe snorted, already fumbling for the spoon Finn had stuck in the bowl of stew.  “I wouldn’t get too far on this empty stomach.  I’m not even tempted when there’s a meal that smells this good on the table.”  He finally got his first bite, and the stew tasted as good as it smelled, even though it was barely warm.

“Miss Phasma made it,” said Finn.  He shifted from one foot to another, either impatient or nervous.  “She’s usually got some going all the time.  Tastes okay, but you get kinda tired of it after a while.”

“She the blonde?” Poe asked around a full mouth of stew.  He chased it with a long gulp of water, careful this time to avoid cutting his lips on the cup.  He didn’t think the woman had looked particularly domestic, but he guessed any woman could get stuck doing woman’s work, even if she could shoot and ride.  _And sometimes men get stuck with it too,_ Poe thought, remembering his years spent keeping house in Río Dulce.

Finn answered, “Yeah.  Only woman around here.”

Poe chuckled again in between bites of stew.  “Doesn’t that cause some trouble?  A woman out here with all you guys around?”

“It’d cause a lot more trouble if anyone tried anything,” muttered Finn.  “She can take any of us in a fist fight, and outshoot anyone but Ren.  No one fights over her ‘cos they’re too scared of her.  A few of the boys might _talk_ big about what they’d do to her—but not when she’s around, ‘cos she’d hand their asses to them if she heard.”

“Good for her,” Poe observed, meaning it sincerely.  He had cleaned out his bowl, and he laid the spoon in it before draining the last of the water from his cup.  As he set it down, he faltered, then finally asked what was really on his mind: “Is. . . is she Ren’s woman?”

“Miss Phasma?  Ha!” Finn snickered.  “She’s _nobody’s_ woman but her own.  She’s all business—and so is Ren, except he does spend a lot of evenings in town, at the saloon.”

“Yeah?” Poe murmured.  “Guess he’s got a girl there.”

“Nah, not that anyone’s ever seen,” countered Finn.  “He keeps to himself.  I think he hangs around there to keep an eye on the town, make sure no one’s getting out of line.”  He rolled his eyes, which pretty clearly conveyed his opinion on Ren and his authority.  Finn had opened up to Poe pretty fast, but Poe was grateful for it.  Not only was he learning potentially useful information, he also appreciated just having someone to talk to.

_So Kylo Ren doesn’t have a woman,_ Poe thought as he gazed down at his empty bowl.  He told himself he was only interested because a woman would be a weakness, a way to get to Ren—but something deep inside him seethed with jealousy to think of Ren with a lover, because that made Poe think of _Ben_ with a lover, even if the two couldn’t be the same man.

Finn broke into Poe’s thoughts when he asked, “You finished?” Although Poe felt like he could have downed a second bowl of stew, he knew he’d better not; too much food might make him sluggish.  In Poe’s situation, he needed to stay alert.

“Yeah,” he told Finn.  “Except. . . a little more water?  Please?”  Finn nodded and filled the cup again, but he hesitated before putting it back on the table.

When Poe looked up at him, Finn gulped, “Uh, you—you know I gotta tie you back up in the stable, right?”

“Yeah, I heard him.  ‘S why I wanted one last drink,” Poe said.  He couldn’t figure out why Finn looked distinctly embarrassed, until he spoke again.

“Um, as much as you’re drinking, you’re really gonna have to. . . to, uh. . . .”

Poe broke out in a snicker and prompted, “To piss?”  He hadn’t met many men too shy to talk about relieving themselves, especially not out West, but Finn’s sheepishness was kind of endearing.

“Uh, yeah,” Finn mumbled.

“I’ll worry about that later,” Poe chuckled.  “Right now, I’m still too thirsty to feel like I’ll ever need to go again.”

Finn finally gave in and handed Poe the cup, muttering, “All right, but you’d better take care of anything you gotta do before I tie your hands again, because I’m not gonna help you with it.”  Poe laughed so hard, he almost choked again.

After Poe drained the cup, Finn walked him back out to the stable, carrying the rope that had bound Poe’s wrists.  He did in fact give Poe the chance to “take care of things” behind the stable before they went in; Finn stood to one side, looked away, and fidgeted until Poe was finished, and Poe tried not to laugh again since he didn’t want to make the other man feel any more awkward than he already did.

But the urge to laugh passed once they went back in the stable past the two other men who’d been sent out to guard the door, and Finn began to tie Poe up again.  Finn wasn’t rough, but Poe was still far from comfortable seated on the ground with his wrists bound behind his back and his legs tied in front of him.  When Finn had finished with the knots, he sat back on his heels and braced his hands on his knees.

“Poe—I’m sorry,” he blurted out, “I really am.”  Poe remembered how Finn had refused to shoot any of the townspeople in Ruth, and he saw that same hesitation on Finn’s face now.

“I know,” Poe told him.  “It’s all right, you don’t have a choice.”  Finn frowned, but then he just nodded and got to his feet.

“Good luck,” Finn muttered on his way out of the stables.

“You too,” said Poe, and he meant it.

\--

To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this fic before, you may want to reread this chapter because I've added to it, to explain the reasoning behind Kylo taking over the town. I've also changed bits and pieces of the previous chapters, like place names. Little Mesa has become Ely, and Jakku has become Ruth.

_Hasta la vista._

Poe Dameron’s words echoed in Kylo’s head, and he slumped against the wall, braced on one shoulder, as soon as he was out past the kitchen door.  Even as it swung shut, he could hear Finn speaking to the captive: “Uh, your name’s Dameron, right?”

_Hasta la vista_.  Not _adiós_ but _hasta la vista_.

In his head, Kylo heard Poe’s voice, over and over: _We were friends.  I never forgot._

Kylo shoved himself off the wall with his shoulder and raked a hand through his shaggy hair to regain his composure.  Then he stalked away from the kitchen to the ranch house’s little parlor, where he’d left Armitage Hux while Kylo went to meet Dameron in the kitchen.  A red-haired British man who oversaw the ranch operations under Kylo’s supervision, Hux was still seated in the leather chair he preferred, reading a book.  He looked up when Kylo entered.

“Did you learn anything further from him?” Hux asked.  Even after this long, Kylo wasn’t quite used to Hux’s accent, and again he wondered just how a well-mannered gentleman from England had ended up in the wilds of the Utah Territory.  Hux had never volunteered the information, and Kylo had never asked.

“Nothing of use,” Kylo muttered.  “Do you know where Phasma is?”

Hux looked mildly irritated as he answered, “No.  Why should I?”  Kylo’s mood worsened at the flippant question, but he let it pass.  Hux was the only person on the ranch who dared to talk to him that way ( _except for Poe Dameron,_ Kylo amended) because ultimately, there wasn’t much Kylo could do about anything less than outright insubordination from him.

“Go find her and bring her here,” ordered Kylo.  “We need to discuss our next move.”  Hux still seemed put out, but he nodded and left to obey.  As he sat down and waited alone, Kylo’s thoughts snapped back to Dameron and what he had said.

Kylo only remembered the bad things from his childhood, and until now, he had only remembered bad things from the trip his family had taken to Guatemala.  Like biting into a raw plantain he thought was a banana, and how awful it had tasted.  Or being nearly eaten alive by mosquitos and getting angry about it.  Or the snake.  Kylo had been alone that day, out wandering in the stupid, hot jungle just to get away from the stupid, sleepy village, and he had stepped on a snake that nearly bit him.  It _would_ have bitten him if another boy hadn’t come by just then with a pistol.

More clearly than any of the bad things, the plantain or the mosquitos or the snake, Kylo could recall the other boy’s eyes: reddish-brown eyes framed by long black lashes, half-lowered lids under dark brows.  Remembering those eyes unlocked the rest of the memories from that trip, all the good things he’d blocked away.  In an instant, Kylo relived all of it, from when the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen smiled at him and said, “ _Soy Poe_ ,” to when that same boy cried into his shirt and whispered, “ _Te amo_.”  And then Kylo had kissed him, his first kiss, and the boy had kissed him back, and when Kylo said goodbye, the boy had shaken his head and said, “ _Hasta la vista_.”  Not “goodbye,” but “see you soon.”

It hadn’t been soon—it had been more than twenty years, and Kylo had come close to killing the person he’d loved so fast and so hard.

Kylo realized his own eyes were overflowing with tears, so he ripped the bandana off his neck and scrubbed at his face to obliterate the wetness there before Hux and Phasma came in and saw it.  His breath still came raggedly, though, and he shuddered.

_He’s the same Poe—I **did** know him.  I loved him._   Kylo acknowledged each thought tentatively, like feeling his way across an unstable floor.  _Why did he have to come **here**?  Snoke will want him dead—there’s nothing else Dameron can tell us, and if I keep him here much longer, Snoke will have Hux kill him.  Or. . . or he’ll come out and do it himself._

Kylo thought about that, Poe dead with the light gone from those beautiful eyes, and tried to tell himself it would be for the best.  But Kylo’s traitorous memories kept resurfacing: memories of Poe smiling at him, placing his small hand in Kylo’s, kissing him, whispering, “ _Te amo_.”  Kylo knew he couldn’t let Poe’s light go out.

_I don’t still love him,_ Kylo told himself, _but I did, once, and even his death couldn’t change that._   Only a moment later, Hux returned with Phasma stalking in behind him, and Kylo’s brain jerked away from his memories and back to the present.  At the same time, though, one part of his mind stayed behind, working separately to plan a next move that had nothing to do with gaining control of the Skywalker ranch.

“You wanted to see me?” Phasma asked when Kylo didn’t address her.  She stood in front of him with her hips cocked and a hand propped on the higher one.  The pose was typical and made her look impatient even though her face remained neutral.  Phasma never challenged Kylo, not like Hux did, but he always got the feeling she found him inefficient.

“Yes,” Kylo told her.  He glanced over at Hux, who stood a few inches shorter than the woman, to include him in the conversation.  “We’re going to need to change our plans now that we won’t get to Skywalker before Leia Solo does.”

“I still believe we should go after the Skywalkers,” Hux interjected.  “We can still get them to sell.”  He said nothing directly accusatory, but Kylo felt accused all the same, like Hux had come out and said that Kylo didn’t have the balls to face down both Skywalkers at once. . . or to face Leia at all.

Ignoring that, Kylo countered, “Selling’s out of the question now.  So far, we’ve done this thing financially, and legally, but if Solo’s willing to bring outsiders into it and hire a—a hot-shot gunslinger to protect her interests, she’s not going to sell, no matter what Luke Skywalker does.”

“So you’re saying money can’t buy everything after all,” murmured Phasma.  Her mouth curled up in what was nearly a smile, and she cut her eyes over at Hux like she’d just won some private argument of theirs.  She probably _had_ , Kylo thought, noticing how Hux refused to look back.

“We’re going to have to take the ranch by force,” Kylo told them.  “I suppose I should have done it a long time ago, but everyone else in the area gave in so easily. . . .”

Kylo didn’t think intimidation was the only reason why they gave in, either.  With Snoke’s permission, Kylo had allowed them all—ranch owners, hands, merchants in town, all of them—to stay on their former properties and to carry on with their business as if nothing had happened.  And nothing had, really, except that the deeds were now all in Snoke’s name.

No personal property had even changed hands, only the land and the livestock—and Snoke really just wanted the land.  After the success of the Rattlesnake gold mine over in Desperation, he was convinced there was ore in Ely too.  Once that ore was discovered, Snoke would own every bit of land in and around the town, and then his noose would tighten on the townsfolk.  Their business would no longer be their own; it would become mining, for Snoke.  Anyone who refused could be sent on her or his way out of town—said Snoke now, although Kylo suspected he’d really just order them shot.  Even more strongly, he suspected no one _would_ refuse since Snoke now owned their means of livelihood.

But for the time being, Snoke via Kylo paid the former owners well to keep on tending that land and livestock as if it were still their own.  Until Snoke obtained the last pieces of property—the Skywalker Ranch and, less importantly, Maz Kanata’s saloon—he could not begin the search for the gold, silver, and copper ore he intended to mine.

“It really is too bad you only decided on that course of action _now_ ,” Hux said, shaking Kylo out of his thoughts.  “A few months ago, and it would have just taken three bullets for you to inherit it all.  Now it will likely take an all-out _war_ for us to seize that land.”  He paused then added in an innocent tone, “Unless you think they haven’t gotten around to changing their wills?”

“Quiet!” Kylo growled at Hux.  “Things are the way they are now.  There’s no point in thinking about what might have been.”  Yet all the while, that back part of his mind was working over the problem of Poe Dameron and deciding on a course of action in that matter of what might have been, too.

Kylo went on, “We can’t storm the ranch right away, because they’ll be wary—and anyway, I want to see what happens with Skywalker, if he comes back to the ranch or not.  That will give us time to prepare.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Phasma.  She shifted her weight to the other hip, and Hux glanced over at her.

Kylo answered, “We’ll need the best riders and gunmen we’ve got, so I want you two deciding who that is—and when we’re done here, head to town and look around for some more recruits there as well.  I don’t care who they are, as long as they’re good and their loyalty can be bought.”  He glanced up at Phasma again and pointed out, “Money may not buy _everything_ , but an awful lot of men are for sale.”

“Oh, I know.  And those are usually the same ones who say most _women_ are whores,” Phasma replied.  She paused, then asked the question Kylo had been expecting: “What are you going to do with Dameron?  I’m surprised you haven’t already shot him.”

“Especially since you said he can’t tell you anything else of use,” Hux put in.  He was looking at Kylo again now with his green eyes fixed on the seated man’s face.  Kylo thought he saw suspicion in that look.

“I never said _that,_ ” retorted Kylo, but then he vowed not to let Hux bait him.  Instead, he answered Phasma’s question: “We’ll keep him alive a little while longer, until we’ve actually taken over the ranch.  We might need him for that—he could know something we don’t about operations there.”

When Phasma nodded, Kylo went on, “That reminds me, the two men guarding Dameron right now are good shots, too good to waste on guard duty.  Phasma, before you leave for town, take them off watch so they can rest up, and put someone else on instead.”  He pretended to pause and think before he said, “Finn.  Make Finn do it—he’s too poor a rider to be any use in this.”

“Finn?  You sure about that?”  Phasma blinked her wide-set blue eyes at him.  She didn’t often question his orders, and that she did so now told Kylo he’d made the right choice.  He also knew exactly how to respond, considering that Phasma herself had recruited and trained most of his men, Finn included.

“Why?” Kylo challenged her.  He stood up to emphasize his authority, although Phasma was even taller than he was.  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t put him on guard?”

He could see hesitation on Phasma’s face—hesitation and nervousness.  Of course she knew Finn wasn’t reliable; she had to have seen what Kylo did, that Finn hadn’t done his part in razing Ruth.  But Phasma didn’t know that _Kylo_ knew, and she hadn’t seen what Kylo saw in the kitchen: the way Finn looked at Poe Dameron, with admiration and pity.  Phasma likely thought maybe they _could_ trust Finn to fight back if Dameron decided to escape.  She’d surely rather take that risk than admit to Kylo that one of the men she’d hand-picked was no good.

“No sir, there is no reason,” Phasma said.  She folded her arms across her chest, a gesture both defiant and protective.  “I’ll tell them to swap out.”

Kylo nodded, then looked over at Hux again as he asked, “Is there anything else?”  Hux didn’t look exactly satisfied, but he shook his head.

“We’ll head on to town as soon as Phasma handles her men,” he told Kylo.  Now Phasma was the one to glance at Hux with just a hint of bitterness in her gaze, but Kylo didn’t care how much they resented each other or his orders.  All that mattered was getting Poe Dameron out of his way.

\--

Even though Kylo had formed it in the back of his mind on the fly, his plan worked.  That evening just after sunset, while Hux and Phasma were still away in town, Kylo rode out along the trail that ran between his base and the Skywalker Ranch.  He directed his horse up a rocky slope to the left of the trail, then dismounted when they both would be concealed behind some large boulders.  Kylo leaned his back against one of the boulders and waited.

He heard the hoofbeats even sooner than expected.  One corner of Kylo’s wide mouth twitched up into a mirthless smirk at how predictable they were, both of them; then he leaned to the side just far enough to glimpse the trail around one of the boulders.  By the light of a half moon, Kylo could see Poe and Finn galloping down the trail toward the ranch.  Poe rode ahead of Finn, presumably on a stolen horse although Kylo couldn’t tell which one from that distance.

_He’s showing Finn the way to the ranch,_ Kylo thought.  _He probably promised he’d protect Finn in exchange for his freedom. . . ._   That was exactly what Kylo had hoped for.

_Adiós, Poe,_ Kylo told his old friend silently, and even though he hadn’t consciously thought about it that way, he meant the farewell literally. _Adiós_ , not _hasta la vista_.  “Go with God,” not “see you soon,” because if Poe had any sense, he’d collect his horse at the Skywalker Ranch and then move on. . . across Utah or back to Guatemala or wherever the hell he’d been going when he’d stumbled upon Ely.  And Poe Dameron and Kylo Ren would never see each other again.

\--

To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

“I don’t like this,” Hux muttered from where he was perched on the barstool beside Phasma’s.  She turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow at the same time.  The thin Brit looked so out of place there in Maz Kanata’s saloon, Phasma nearly assumed he meant he didn’t like  _that_.  But even though Hux complained a hell of a lot, his complaints were usually legitimate.

So she gave in to his bid for attention and sighed, “You don’t like  _what_?”

Hux’s answer surprised her: “Any of it.  Things didn’t go right over in Ruth—we lost the map, and from what I can recall, Mr. Snoke did not order us to destroy the entire town.”

“Don’t blame  _me_  for it,” Phasma snapped.  “That was all Ren’s idea.”

“I know that, I know he lost his temper just like he always does—”

“As if your temper is always under control.”

“Phasma,  _listen_  to me!” hissed Hux.  He shifted his entire body on his stool so that he faced her, and the intensity of his demeanor made her take him seriously.  Hux continued, “It isn’t just Ruth I’m worried about.  Mr. Snoke isn’t going to care that Ren burned it down—he’ll probably be delighted, in fact.  He always seems to encourage Ren’s tantrums.”

Phasma shrugged, then nodded with some reluctance.  Hux had a point, but she hadn’t noticed it sooner because she tried to avoid Snoke, the “big boss” of their outfit, as much as possible.  There was something spooky about him, in Phasma’s opinion.  It went beyond his physical appearance, which was tall, thin, pale, and scarred—easily the ugliest old man she’d ever seen, and Phasma didn’t waste much time judging men by how they looked.  It was just that with Snoke, you couldn’t  _help_  but judge.

Hux muttered, “And now there’s this Dameron character in the picture.”

“What about him?”  In response to Phasma’s question, Hux gave her the look she most despised, the one where he narrowed his green eyes in exasperation at her obtuseness.

“You don’t think there’s  _anything_  strange about Ren bringing that foreigner home and  _keeping_  him?” he snapped.

“Hux,  _you’re_  a foreigner,” observed Phasma.

Hux ignored that and continued, “Ren supposedly performed his little hypnotist act on Dameron without learning anything except that the two of you failed to get the map to Skywalker.”  Phasma bristled, but did so silently.  “Then he brought Dameron inside and fed him lunch under the pretense of questioning him further, yet Ren  _still_  learned nothing.  And now we’re supposed to keep Dameron captive  _and_  alive until we can scrape together enough men to take over the Skywalker Ranch?  Provided that’s even possible.”

Phasma contemplated all this for a moment before she sighed and admitted, “All right, so it’s odd behavior for Ren.  You heard me say to his face that I’m surprised he didn’t shoot Dameron while he was still hypnotized.  But he didn’t, and his reasoning makes enough sense to me.”

“ _Does_  it?”  Hux stared at her with those intense eyes of his.  “Ren wants to keep Dameron alive because he might know something Ren doesn’t about the Skywalker Ranch.  As far as I’ve heard, Dameron was first seen in town a couple days ago.  So in two days, he learned more about that ranch than  _Kylo Ren_  knows?”

Phasma was ready to argue with him, to point out that things had undoubtedly changed since the last time Ren had set foot on property owned by anyone using the name Skywalker or Solo.  Then she stopped and asked herself why she was arguing at all.

_Because arguing with Hux is just a habit by now,_  she decided.   _One that’s not accomplishing anything at the moment._

Aloud, Phasma told Hux, “Well if you’re so concerned about Dameron, you can look into that when we get back to the ranch tonight.  Right now, though, we’d better find some recruits for Ren, or you’ll get to witness that temper of his, first hand.”

“You know we’re not likely to find anyone new,” Hux grumbled.  “Anyone in Ely willing to work for Snoke or Ren is already with us.  Unless someone’s passing through looking for work—”

Phasma interrupted him, “That’s who we’ll look for, someone new in town.  And the quicker you stop griping and start looking, the quicker we can go home.”  She ignored Hux’s glare as she stood and stretched her long legs, clad in jeans unlike those of the other women in the saloon.  Besides Maz Kanata herself, who tended the bar, those were just two saloon girls in frilly dresses with skirts which revealed their stockinged legs from their knees downward.  Both the girls, who happened to be sisters though they looked little alike, cast contemptuous looks toward Phasma from where they stood at the opposite end of the bar.

“Fine,” Hux was saying when Phasma turned back to him.  “I still think it’s a waste of time, but at least we can tell Ren we tried.  Perhaps he’ll have a smaller tantrum that way.”

Ignoring that, Phasma told him, “I’m going to sit in the back, and you can stay up here at the bar.  That way, we won’t miss anybody—and I don’t think I’m welcome up here, anyhow.”

“Hmm?”  Hux glanced at Maz first, then noticed the saloon girls and smirked.  “What, are they afraid of the competition?  I suppose there might be  _some_  man out there seeking a lady wearing pants and a perpetual scowl, but I don’t think he’ll wander in  _here_.”

“Go to hell, Hux,” said Phasma.  She knew the saloon girls weren’t worried about competition: as obnoxious as he could be about it, Hux was right about the locals’ lack of interest in her.  The sisters were likely more concerned that Phasma would scare potential customers away from the bar.  The fact that they were friends of Leia Solo probably had something to do with their scorn for Phasma as well.

Phasma stalked to a quiet table in the back corner of the saloon and sat facing outward into the room.  For a while, she saw no one unusual around, but she didn’t consider her time wasted, even if Hux did.  Phasma hadn’t been into town for the past couple weeks, so she appreciated the chance to listen and watch for any new developments.  She overheard plenty of gossip about what had happened over in Ruth, but otherwise, nothing and no one new turned up for a quarter of an hour.

Around then, one of the area’s frequent dust storms popped up and chased a few men in off the street.  Most were townsfolk Phasma knew, but two appeared to be newcomers.  One of those, with dark hair and shifty eyes, looked too scrawny to be useful, despite his being fairly tall.  The other, however, Phasma eyed with interest.  He was a giant of a man, probably taller even than she was, and she was taller than most men in Ely.  Broad shoulders, arms so muscular they pulled the fabric of his sleeves taut—if they could recruit a man like  _that_ , Ren’s gang might be able to take the Skywalker Ranch after all.  Phasma spared a glance at the man’s face.  With his long, dark blond hair and high cheekbones, she supposed he could be considered handsome.  Phasma hoped Hux would have the chance to recruit the man—and the sense to take it.

She spent the next few minutes watching Hux, and growing increasingly irritated when he seemed just to be staring at the stranger without actually approaching or speaking to him.  Thus Phasma got caught off guard when the  _other_  stranger approached  _her_.  It embarrassed her to be startled since she usually stayed well aware of her surroundings.

“You’ll have to find another table,” she growled up at the shifty-looking brunet, who had reached hers with a glass in each hand and something bordering a smile on his grizzled face.  “I’m sitting here.”

“I n-n-noticed,” said the newcomer, and for half a second, Phasma thought she’d intimidated him into stammering his reply.  It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d scared a man.  But then he continued speaking, and she felt close to stupid when she realized he stuttered naturally.  Phasma hated feeling stupid more than she hated being caught off guard, so she loathed the guy already.

He went on, “M-m-mind if I sit at the ha-ha-half of the table you’re n-n-not using?”

Phasma leaned forward with her elbows on the table for a better look, and a more intimidating glare, at him as she snapped, “Sit wherever the hell you want, but I’m not moving.”

“Great, I’d b-b-be sorry if you did since I b-b-bought this for you,” commented the intruder as he set down one of the glasses in front of Phasma, then sank into a chair across the round table from her.  His long black coat sprinkled the floor with dust that Maz Kanata would probably complain about having to sweep up.  Taking that, along with his lined, unshaven face, rumpled hair, and tired eyes, Phasma decided her unwanted guest had traveled a long distance to reach Ely.

She eyed the glass before her with suspicion and asked, “Why?”  The glass was filled with bourbon, her usual, which meant the stranger had consulted Maz or, Heaven help her, Hux before ordering.  Phasma doubted her drink was spiked with anything, since she knew Maz kept a close, albeit myopic eye on every drink she poured, even those intended for Ren’s gang.  As owner of Ely’s only saloon  _and_  the only place to get a meal or a bed, Maz prided herself on the sterling reputation of her establishments.  (Her own reputation wasn’t so clean, although she swore she was now a  _reformed_  cattle rustler, stage coach robber, etc.)  Nevertheless, Phasma didn’t trust the drink on principle.

The man shrugged his bony shoulders swathed in the black duster and answered her question with, “’Cos I want to talk to you about something.  And ’cos you’re the prettiest woman he-he-here.”

At that, Phasma scoffed, “Lies won’t get you any farther than liquor will.  If you want company ‘til closing time, you’re better off taking your drinks right back up to the bar.  Those girls up there, it’s their job to be nice to men.  I don’t work here, and I’m not nice.”

“Good.”  The stranger smirked and took a drink from his own glass.  “I don’t like n-n-nice girls, and I wasn’t lying.  But that’s n-n-not what I want to talk about either.”

“What the hell do you want then?” grumbled Phasma.  She eyed her drink then finally tasted a sip.  It seemed to be undoctored, but she planned to drink it slowly nevertheless.

The man replied, “I came out this way on the stagecoach ‘cos I had b-b-business in Ruth, but when I got there, there wasn’t any Ruth left.  So n-n-naturally, I came on to the n-n-nearest town to find out what ha-ha-happened, and to see if I could recoup any of m-m-my losses.”  He paused and took another drink, then propped an elbow up on the table and rested his chin in his hand before continuing.

“B-b-but it’s the funniest thing, n-n-no one will talk about it.  Like they kn-n-now what ha-ha-happened, but they’re scared to say.”

“Hmn,” sniffed Phasma.

“So I decided to m-m-make one last effort and ask around the saloon, since I gotta stay the n-n-night anyhow and there’s n-n-nothing else to do around hu-hu-here,” the stranger went on.  “And lo and b-b-b-behold, that redhead at the bar points m-m-me back to this corner and says, ‘Go ask Phasma if you’re so d-d-damn curious.  She was there.’”

He stopped talking and downed the rest of his drink, like he was waiting for her to pipe right up and tell him the whole story.  Phasma sat glaring and silent until he set his empty glass down and leaned back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest.

“Okay, so I’m asking.  What ha-ha-happened over there in Ruth, Missus Phasma?”

She was so irritated at everything in general (and at Hux in particular for dumping this dusty mess of a man in  _her_  lap instead of dealing with him himself), she snapped right then, before they even got around to Ruth.

“It’s not  _missus_ ,” Phasma snarled, “or  _miss_  or  _ma’am_  or  _miz_  or anything else of the sort.  It’s Phasma.  Just plain Phasma.”  She felt gratified when the stranger’s dark brown eyes widened a little with apprehension, since it meant he’d finally decided to take her seriously.  His eyes caught the lamplight and looked brighter like that too, and Phasma wondered if he might be younger than she’d originally thought.

“Fine,” he muttered after a few seconds.  “What ha-ha-happened, Phasma?  Did  _you_  raze Ruth?  Because I’m starting to b-b-believe you could’ve.”

Phasma gave in and explained, “I’ll tell you right now, if anyone in that town owed you money, you won’t get it—most of them are dead.  But if you really care to know the details, Ididn’t burn it down. . . but I was there.”

“Mmhmm.”  He made a “keep talking” gesture with his fingers, and Phasma caught the flash of gaudy rings on a couple of them.  Every time she came close to not hating the man, she noticed a new loathsome thing about him.

“You tell me who you are, first,” she challenged him.  “You know my name, so what’s yours?”

“I go b-b-by DJ,” he said.

“DJ?”  When he nodded, Phasma pressed him in exasperation, “That’s _all_?  Don’t you have a last name?”

One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk, and he confirmed, “That’s all.  N-n-no last name.  I’m just DJ. . . and you’re ‘just plain’ Phasma.”

Phasma would have enjoyed punching him right in that smug mouth of his, but he probably would have enjoyed it too, just knowing he could piss her off.  Instead, she made herself take a breath to calm down before she began to relate the whole story—because, she realized, that was probably the only way she’d ever get him off her back.

“If you had any sense,” Phasma informed DJ, “you’d take a hint when people won’t talk about a thing, you’d give up on whatever business you have, and you’d get back on that stagecoach tomorrow morning and go back to wherever the hell you came from.  But as things stand, the short answer to your question is that my boss burned Ruth to the ground over a map. . . .”

\--

To be continued


End file.
